


Playing by the Rules

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) [8]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bullying, Collars, Confined/Caged, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Polyamory, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Size Kink, Slurs, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place during Week #8 of XF series 9. Nobody likes Christopher and everyone likes George.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing by the Rules

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Explicit sexual content (slash [oral sex, penetrative sex, threesome, size!kink, unprotected sex, comeplay, overstimulation, rimming, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, deep-throating/gagging/choking]; use of sex toys; and graphic sexual dialogue. Heavy D/s elements (voice command, speech/motion restrictions, orgasm control/denial, mentions of collaring, caging, ownership; no impact play, very light breathplay [no strangulation]). _Use of homophobic, body-image, and misogynistic slurs as insults_.  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.  
>  **Notes** : Hope you like it if you're still around reading!

** Playing by the Rules **

George's knees ache, and he's very pleased about it. He thinks that maybe he shouldn't be quite so pleased about it but he's learned, being with Harry and Louis, that the world isn't quite so black and white when it comes to liking things. Not everybody would understand this -- how much he likes it on his knees, how much he likes that he's been in Harry's house for an hour now and he hasn't spent any of it on his feet.

Louis has one hand in George's hair and it makes his scalp ache a little too but it's the same as his knees; it just makes him feel nice and a bit woozy, not quite under but hovering on the edge of it. He nuzzles hopefully at the bulge in Louis' pants and looks up into his eyes, trying to communicate without speaking exactly what he wants.

"Harry, what are you making for dinner?" Louis asks, completely ignoring the warm breath George is huffing over the front of Louis' pants. He gives George's hair a little pet, and he spares George a smile, but despite the fact that his body is clearly interested, Louis doesn't relent.

"I was thinking maybe something with pasta," muses Harry from next to Louis on the sofa. He's curled up there, his head tilted onto Louis' shoulder so that if he wanted, he could have a fantastic angle of George. "In the mood for Italian, unless you aren't?"

George rests his cheek against Louis' thigh, staring beseechingly up at the pair of them. He has one hand wrapped around Harry's ankle, which he'd thought might be bending the rules a little, but Harry hasn't shaken him off yet.

"I could do Italian," Louis agrees. He sounds utterly nonchalant, and George wants to, wants to, he doesn't know what he wants to do, but he doesn't want Louis to be nonchalant. "You could do that pesto you're fond of. I liked that last time. D'you like pesto, George? Nod or shake," he tacks on as an afterthought.

George slowly considers his options -- it takes a while to process questions that don't have to do with his immediate predicament, which is that he very much wants to be touching more of Louis than he is right now. Does he like pesto? If he nods, then he can nuzzle at Louis some more, but if he shakes his head, maybe they'll let him speak and he can ask.

He does like pesto, though. And he can't lie to Louis; he doesn't want to do that.

It takes a moment, but he does nod, watching Louis' face to make sure he's doing the right thing, and Louis hums in response. "Good, good, we'll have pesto. Later," he adds. He strokes through George's hair again, and it feels so nice that George has to mouth against Louis' dick to show his appreciation.

Louis still doesn't say anything, but he does slump in his seat just a little and spread his legs the barest inch wider, so George lights up inside and redoubles his effort, kissing and breathing and nuzzling against the material. He lets his tongue peek out of his mouth to press against Louis, and Louis' cock jumps a little at the sudden wetness.

His face doesn't change at all, though his hand tightens enough that it stings a bit. George's mouth falls open, and he licks out against Louis, curling his tongue against the damp cotton. He wants, so much, and Louis isn't giving him much at all but it's somehow so close to what he wants that it's almost enough.

A little nickel of sticky wet leaks out through the material of Louis' pants, but Louis maneuvers George's head away. 

"No, George," he says firmly. He rubs George's shoulders and lifts George's chin to look into his eyes. "You've been very good so far; don't you want to stay good?"

George does, he wants to be so good for Louis, he wants to be the best. He bobs his head in a nod, nudging Louis' wrist with his nose to apologize.

Louis smiles at George and strokes his cheek with his thumb. "Such a perfect boy. D'your knees hurt too badly? You can speak."

"I'm fine," George says slowly, shifting on his knees. They're sore, but it's lovely. "Amazing," he says, because that's the truth of it, he's amazing right now, and he never wants to get off his knees.

Louis smiles, and two fingers tap over George's lips. "Good. Quiet, then. Alright?"

George nods and kisses Louis' fingertips.

"As you were," Louis tells him, tugging George in close again and leaving his fingers tangled in George's hair. He leans back in the sofa, looking over to Harry. "And you, darling? You doing alright?"

Harry grins. He's naked, too, like George, but he's been allowed to walk and speak freely. He's wearing a plug, though, and a cock ring, and George has neither.

"Never better." Harry kisses Louis' shoulder and then rests his head there again. 

George wants their attention on him (that's what he always wants, but even more when he's like this) so he leans one cheek down onto Louis' thigh and breathes out heavily, warm air over Louis' cock.

Louis taps his fingertips over George's lips again. "Don't play dirty, love. You can have whatever you want _later_."

Well, George wants what he wants _now_ , but he also quite likes just staying here on his knees for Louis, so he can do that. He kisses Louis' fingers again and then relaxes, bowing his head.

Louis' hand is soft and gentle as it combs though George's hair and scrubs down the back of his neck, blunt nails scraping a little as Louis massages George's shoulders. "So pretty, obedient little George."

That's nice, that's very nice. George has been tense all day, and it's so nice to not need to think about anything. It's so nice here with Harry and Louis. He feels pretty right now, doing exactly what Louis tells him to do.

Rehearsing for two songs in one week is no joke. And Ella being gone -- and Ella being gone --

George makes a sad little noise and pushes his face against Louis' skin, because when he thinks about Ella, a little crack pushes through the white-gold fog in his head and he doesn't like that, not at all. Partly because when that happens, he notices that his knees do, actually hurt a bit, and partly because what he really, really wants is to be under all night.

"Shh, sweetheart," whispers Harry. His knuckles brush over George's hand on his ankle and it helps, lets George float back up where he wants to be.

He doesn't know how Harry's lasted this long without Louis touching him. George is only supposed to keep from touching himself (or them) and he feels like he might implode.

"I like your haircut," Louis says to George, swiping one finger underneath George's fringe. "I can almost see your ears now."

George giggles at that and lets his hair tickle Louis' leg. Now that it's been cut, it's extra-fluffy. He likes it, too.

Louis doesn't quite laugh but he smiles and chucks George on the cheek. "Cute," he says softly. "Such a pretty mouth you've got. Pretty everything, really, but the _mouth_ on you..." He licks his lips. "You look so good when it's on my dick."

George has to whimper, he can't not, he wants it _so_ badly and it's torture sitting here and knowing Louis' hard and he's so close by and George can't touch.

"Tell me how much you want it, George," Louis instructs. "Beg me to let you suck me off."

George doesn't quite know how to express that much, especially if he can't speak, and he lets two desperate whimpers well up in him before he buries his face in the crease of Louis' hip and tugs a little at the fabric of Louis' pants with his teeth.

"Oh, that's nice, love," Louis whispers, pulling George back. "That's very nice. Take it out."

George's breath stutters and he kisses Louis' hip and belly and thigh over and over as he carefully arranges Louis' pants so that his cock is free and George can reach all of it without getting up from his knees. His hands are shaking a little he's so excited.

"Look at me." It's a firm command. "Let me see your eyes."

George looks up at Louis. His eyes are huge, and he has to lick his lip because it's too wet with wanting.

"Good boy, such a very good boy." Louis looks satisfied, and pleased with George, and it makes warmth bubble up in George's tummy. "You can suck me now."

George presses his lips together so he doesn't whisper _thank you thank you thank you_ and ruin it all.

He pushes his pursed lips against the head of Louis' cock, and then licks the pre-come off of them. He's missed that taste, salty and bitter against his tastebuds. He keeps his eyes on Louis' as he wraps his lips around the tip of his cock and sucks, just lightly, more of a tease than anything else, but a tease that makes anticipation curl hot and heavy in his stomach.

There hasn't been very much to _do_ besides rehearse, without Ella. There are no coffee shop trips in the morning because there's no one to buy pastries for (and no security to keep him from getting mauled by pretty zombies) and no slumber parties at night. Jaymi's been spending most nights with Olly, too, so George has had the big empty room to himself.

And he hasn't even done anything with himself, because Louis asked him on Monday not to come until they saw each other again.

"Have you been good?" Louis asks. "Do you deserve this?" He pets George's head and seems as though he's asking any old question, not at all like George's mouth is on him. That won't do at all. George hums and slides his mouth down more.

 

"I bet he has," Harry says casually from beside them. A second hand curls gently into George's hair. "George always wants to be good."

He does always want to be good. All he wants is to make Harry and Louis happy. He smiles around Louis' cock and closes his eyes, sucking happily.

He wants Louis to press his head down until he can't take more, but this week is _all about singing_. His throat's sore enough as it is, and he did tell them that before he got on his knees because Harry asked, so he knows Louis won't.

"Easy, George," Louis is saying. "Don't take too much. You know your limits, babe." He strokes George's cheek to feel the bump of his own cockhead.

Harry hums. "That looks nice, George. Can I help?"

George isn't sure whether he does want Harry's help, because he wants to make Louis feel good all by himself but he also wants to make Harry happy, so he nods as carefully as he can and scoots himself over to make room.

Harry takes a while to get down onto his knees, since he has to move slowly and carefully with as much on him and in him as there is.

"It's like my birthday's come early." Louis looks delighted, one still hand in George's hair and one in Harry's now, twisting in his curls. "My favorite boys."

George sucks down over the head of Louis' cock and Harry kisses his way up along the shaft until -- oh, their lips meet, and they never kiss George during, and this isn't a kiss but it's nice, Harry's mouth on him as much as it is on Louis.

Harry's mouth is wet and his tongue is clever, tracing a vein in Louis' cock and then over George's lips, making them shiny and slick and helping him ease down over Louis even more.

Louis' hand tightens almost imperceptibly in George's hair and George groans a little, letting Louis feel the vibrations of it.

"You're both being so good, boys," Louis says. He thumbs over George's cheek with one hand and with the other runs his fingertips over Harry's neck.

George hums and takes a little more, feels the head pushing at the back of his throat, knows that he's risking a little raspiness and the loss of his high register, but he _wants_. He wants more of Louis and he wants Harry's lips.

He hardly ever has solos, anyway, and he never sings in his higher register for the harmonies. And anyway, the show's not until Saturday. He knows he's making excuses but he wants this, he _needs_ this, he needs to take Louis' cock as far as he can.

Harry's mouth is soft when he stops George's way. Harry pulls back from Louis and nuzzles against George's ear. 

"Stop competing with me, please," he murmurs, "Remember the competition you _have_ to win."

George's immediate reaction is to take in more, to _win_ before he remembers that it's not a competition and even if it was, he'd never beat Harry. He eases back a little, a flush on his cheeks.

Harry kisses George's cheek, high on the bone, and murmurs sweet things in his ear, rubbing George's back.

He has to close his eyes. Harry's too much, he's too _good_ , and George forgets, sometimes, that -- he loves Harry, and it's, it's mutual, and he shouldn't compete with Harry because Harry's not competing with him.

"It's okay," Harry murmurs. He lets both hands run over George's back and the fronts of his thighs lightly. "Finish Louis off, sweetheart."

George swallows around him and then sucks down a bit more, until it just tickles his throat, and Louis makes an agreeable sound. He listens to Harry's voice because it sounds good in his ear, and he's not giving him instructions but it's nice all the same.

George has been doing this with them long enough to know the telltale signs of when Louis is about to come. The muscles in his thighs tighten and he makes noises in the back of his throat like he can't help it, and he bites his lip, just a little.

He relaxes his throat and takes in just a bit more, just enough that Louis will be able to feel the flutter of his throat muscles around the head of his cock.

Harry's fingertips just barely touch George's neck, too, like he's making sure that George will still have a voice tomorrow.

He will, he thinks. And if he doesn't, he'll have one by the next day. In this moment, the only important thing is Louis.

Louis' hand curls in George's hair, gently touching behind George's ear with the tips of two fingers, and it's so soft -- Louis' hips jerk up, once, another inch of Louis shoved into George's mouth all of a sudden as Louis grunts and comes.

The back of his throat burns just a bit and he resigns himself to whispering for the rest of the day, but it's worth it for the taste and the feel of it, the way Louis looks when George casts his gaze up, a long line of tan and muscle.

Louis' head is tipped back, mouth open in a slight 'o' as he exhales shakily, eyes shut and eyelashes long and dusting.

He looks beautiful. He always looks beautiful, but George doesn't know if there's anyone else in the world who can look like an oil painting when they orgasm.

George doesn't let himself pull back until Louis is clean, all of the smears licked away and Louis' prick tucked back into his pants. George smiles to himself and rests his cheek against the inside of Louis' thigh again.

"You were such a good boy," Louis praises, petting George's head. There's sweat gathered in the hollows of his collarbones. "Such a very good boy, George, you've done very good."

George nuzzles at Louis' knee, but doesn't speak. Louis hasn't told him that he can.

"Can you stand?" Louis taps his head. "Nod or shake."

George begins to nod, but stops -- he's supposed to stay on his knees all day.

Louis smiles at him. "Good, good boy. Harry's going to cook for us now, make us some nice dinner. Are your knees hurting you too much for you to crawl to the kitchen for me?"

George considers for a second, shifting from one knee to the other. If he can use his hands to crawl, too, then he doesn't suppose it's that bad. They'll be sore tomorrow, but fortunately, Union J have been officially banned from jumping off boxes.

"It's wood," Louis warns. "Tell me now if you can't do it."

George shakes his head. He tips onto his hands and -- oh, he can definitely _feel_ his knees, but it isn't _that_ far to the kitchen.

"Alright. Good, George, very good." Louis rubs his head and stands, gesturing for Harry to do so as well and then leaning close to whisper something to him that George can't hear.

Harry licks his lower lip and then bites it, his eyes shining, so George knows that it was something good. Hopefully, something to do with him.

He crawls, hands and knees, toward the kitchen. His knees do hurt but he can't really feel it, not when he's floating. It's just something he knows, more than something he feels.

He does wonder whether he'll have to eat on his hands and knees, too, or whether he gets to sit in a chair. When he'd arrived earlier after rehearsals, Louis had stripped him slowly and kissed him all over and murmured a question about George being their little pet, so George had said yes, green, good. He's still green and he's still good, and he does want to be theirs, just like this, on his hands and knees and he wants them to keep him in a cage and feed him and keep him naked and make all his decisions for him. But for now, this is green, good.

Louis sits at the kitchen table and pats his thigh. "Come on up, George."

George grins, delighted, and scrambles up. He wobbles a little because he's not been on his feet for ages, but it's worth it when he can perch on Louis' lap just like he belongs there.

Louis kisses the back of George's shoulder blade then kneads his crooked knuckles against the small of George's back, and George moans a little.

"Oh, you're so tense," Louis whispers, his thumbs pressing into George's spine. "So stressed, lately, aren't you?"

George shrugs and lets his back arch a little into Louis' touch. Across from him, Harry -- still obscene with his plug in and bright blue cock ring on -- moves around the kitchen, finding basil and parmesan cheese.

"Relax. Watch him." Louis kisses George's neck, gentle and sweet. "He loves cooking. Really in his element when he's got a -- whisk, or whatever, I don't know what they're called."

Harry does a sort of dance as he cooks, George notices. It might just be because the plug is in, but he's shifting from foot to foot and his hips kind of shimmy from side to side, and he offers George a smile every time he turns to get something out or put it away.

George smiles back. It's easy to smile at Harry; easy to love him. He's less sharp than Louis and less spiky; even though George goes under more quickly for Harry than he does for Louis, Harry feels warm and approachable.

It's not _better_ \-- it's just different. Louis and Harry are different and that's just a fact; but it doesn't mean George _likes_ Harry better, Harry's just easier to love than Louis is. Having to try harder to love Louis doesn't mean it's any less satisfying in the end.

Louis feels like an accomplishment. It's part of why George is so proud when Louis praises him.

He's never been in a relationship like this. He's barely ever been in a _relationship_. He doesn't know how these are supposed to work, but he thinks he's slowly finding out that maybe there's no manual, and maybe there aren't any requirements. He's happy with them. He thinks that's all that matters.

Harry swivels to reach something in a high cabinet, and the backs of his thighs stretch long and pale and fine. George mews a little noise, which makes Louis muffle a laugh into the back of George's neck.

"Y'alright, Georgie?" Harry asks, giving him another smile as he turns around.

George nods quickly. He's fantastic, actually. He's brilliant. Brilliant and not talking and sat on Louis' lap watching Harry cook. He doesn't actually know if there's a way for him to be more alright.

After blowing George a little kiss, Harry turns back to his work and soon, the entire kitchen smells of cooking. 

"See?" Louis murmurs into George's hair. "It's all about taking care of each other. He's going to feed me, and you're going to give him whatever he needs. Does that sound alright?"

George nods again. He tips his head back onto Louis' shoulder and turns enough that he can press a kiss to his temple. Taking care of each other. They all take care of each other.

Except, of course, that George still hasn't been allowed to come. It's been _days_ , and they _are_ all naked, and he just doesn't understand how Harry isn't absolutely dying by now, because George is, a bit.

"How much longer, Harry?" Louis asks, pressing a kiss to George's neck, just where it curves out into his shoulder. He teases the spot with his teeth for a moment. "I want my show."

Harry's back shudders a little. "Soon, I promise. Nearly."

"Good." Louis' tongue slowly traces the jut of George's shoulder blade, and George shivers, has to take a deep breath.

Louis' hands pat low on George's back. "Budge up, love, lean over the table for me so I can get you ready for Harry. He's been waiting so long."

George doesn't know if he's supposed to stand -- there's no way he can bend over the table without being on his feet -- but he can't _talk_ to ask Louis if it's alright, so he just stands, slowly, and leans down until his chest touches the cold wood of the table.

"Good," Louis praises, and one soft hand rubs over George's side comfortingly.

He relaxes. He did well, he did the right thing, he pleased Louis. George spreads his legs hopefully and looks back over his shoulder.

"Just me," Louis confirms. "D'you want to suck on my fingers?"

George nods. He wants something in his mouth. It feels like ages since Louis' cock and he wants to have his lips wrapped around something.

"Shhh," Louis murmurs. He slips one arm around George's chest so George can get at his fingers. "I'm definitely paying attention to you, love. It's just me and Harry."

It's then that George realizes he's still tense, in his shoulders, and he tries to let them slump, because Louis' right, and it's him and Harry and they're paying attention to him and talking _to_ him and Louis' fingers are in his mouth. Everything is fine.

"That's it, George," Louis whispers. "Such a good boy."

George hums around Louis' fingers, taking them in as deep as he can and curling his tongue to make a show of it. He keeps his eyes half closed so that he can watch Louis and make sure he's doing well.

Louis leans down and kisses the corner of George's eye. "Can you relax enough to close your eyes _all_ the way, love? It's okay if you can't."

If he does that, he won't be able to see Louis. He thinks he can do that. He hopes that he can, because Louis wants him to. He makes a soft, amenable noise, and lets his eyes fall shut.

"Good," Louis whispers. "Really good. And you can speak to say your colors if you need; you remember them?"

George nods again, whispers, "Green," just in case Louis needs to know. Louis likes to know those things.

He can feel Louis' mouth curve into a smile against the back of his neck. "I'm really glad. Just stay relaxed."

He can do that. He's very relaxed right now, even without being able to see Louis, because he's got something to suck on and he knows that Louis is paying attention to him.

"You're so fit, George," Louis whispers. George startles a little when Louis' fingertips nudge up against the cleft of his ass, but only because they're cold and slick with lube. "I just want to look at you all the time."

George hums around Louis' fingers. He likes when Louis looks at him. He likes feeling sexy, and wanted, and Louis makes him feel those things when he looks at him.

"I want you to ride Harry, and I don't want you to touch your cock at all. When I think it's time, _he_ can touch you _if_ he agrees with me. Does that sound alright?"

George has to breathe in heavily because of how alright that sounds. He nods as much as he can without Louis' fingers slipping out of his mouth.

Teeth scrape against George's shoulder blade. "Good."

A finger presses at George's hole, and he spreads his legs wider because he _wants_ it. He wants Louis' fingers inside him now.

George squeaks a little when he gets two at once, insistent but still gentle.

"You're very tight, love. Did you not play with your plug at all since we saw you? Speak."

"No," George says, his voice low and a little bit raspy. He likes the way it sounds. "No, you told me not to touch myself, so I didn't."

"Mmm," Louis hums, like he's considering. "After tonight, until we see you Saturday, you should wear your plug an hour a day, but don't wank at all. Can you do that? No speaking. Just nod or shake your head."

He can wear his plug for an hour a day, he thinks. It was too much for the premiere, with all the sitting and standing and walking, but if he can pick which hour, if he can do it and then just not move for a while, he can do it. He nods deliberately, firmly.

"Good boy," Louis praises. "If it hurts badly again, just take it out. Don't go to Jaymi."

George frowns. He wouldn't do that. He thought Louis knew that by now, that George learned his lesson. Besides, Jaymi has Olly, really has him now, in public and everything.

George makes a short, sharp sound through his nose and bends a little further over for Louis' fingers. His brow knits, but he doesn't speak.

He can feel the way Louis pauses, and then kisses George's neck. "Do you need to speak? Nod or shake."

George hesitates just long enough that Louis murmurs, "Just say it, love."

He swallows, then opens his mouth. "I'm not going to do anything with Jaymi," he says, quiet, because he has no idea how Louis' going to react. "Not again, I swear I'm not going to."

Louis is quiet for a long moment, but his fingers never stop moving. Across the room, Harry keeps puttering around near the stove, and the soft shushing and hisses are the only sounds.

George feels like maybe he's supposed to say something else but there's nothing else to really say. He won't do anything else with Jaymi, and Louis should know that, and he shouldn't have to say it again.

"That's all," he murmurs, and rests his cheek down against the table.

Louis' fingers rock inside him, and then he nods, against George's back. "Okay," he whispers. "I believe you. You're a good boy."

George nods (a little obstinately) and arches his back again.

"Pretty boy, you're so good for us, aren't you?" Louis twists his fingers inside George, curling them just right.

George nods again, impatient. He _is_ , and they _said_ they forgave him about Jaymi, and he doesn't want Jaymi, he wants Harry and he wants Louis. He bites down just a bit on Louis' fingers to make a point.

"Be good." Louis presses his fingertips down against George's tongue. "Don't be cranky now. Harry, you finished? I'm starving."

"Yeah, go wash your hands," Harry says, and it'd be flippant if Louis' hands weren't sort of, well, inside George.

Who can't help giggling at that, and it makes his eyeteeth nick Louis' fingers again, and Louis yelps.

"Sharp little fangs on you, babe," Louis whispers to him. "Be good for Harry."

George can't stop giggling, so he just lets his eyes shine at Louis and snaps his teeth a little for comedic effect.

"Easy, tiger." Louis gives him a smirk and wriggles his shiny fingers at George before he heads off in the direction George knows is the way to the bathroom.

Harry gives George a smile and comes over to kiss the top of George's head. "Can you help me get this plug out? Only it'll be hard to sit with it in while you're bouncing on me."

George slips off the table and back onto his knees, where he belongs. The ache had faded a little while he was upright but it returns full force now, as he nuzzles Harry's hip and reaches around to touch the base of the plug.

"Slow," Harry instructs, and his fingers comb through George's hair.

Right, slow. George remembers how it feels to have his own plug in, and Harry's is bigger, he thinks. He pushes his lips against Harry's hip bone and slowly, slowly tugs at the plug, wriggling it from side to side as he pulls.

Harry groans a little, but it sounds short, like he's keeping his sounds inside himself so Louis won't hear -- or George won't.

He wants to hear them. He wants to know what sounds Harry makes just for him, and he wants to know every noise that Harry can make and what causes them. He twists the plug inside Harry on his next tug.

" _Ooh._ " It punches low out of Harry, a small sound like surprise, and his fingers tighten in George's hair.

Good. That's what George wants. He wants to hear those sounds. He bites lightly at Harry's hip, leaving tiny teeth marks in his skin, and making a quiet sound of his own when he feels the plug give and slide out the rest of the way.

Harry slumps a little, panting, heavy where he's leaning on George, and George preens, humming and kissing Harry's hip and the crease of his thigh and experimentally kissing down where he can feel the silicone plastic of the cock ring against his lips, too, and not just skin. He can hold up Harry, even though his knees really are starting to hurt. They all take care of each other.

"Good boy, George, that was really good," Harry tells him, patting a clumsy hand down the back of George's neck. "Exactly right."

He slowly slides down to the floor in front of George, kissing his neck when he can reach it, and then, carefully, he kisses George's lips. "Sit on my lap," he says softly. "You know how; I want Louis to be able to see how you can take all of me."

George exhales shakily against Harry's lips before nudging his nose against Harry's once, then twice more. He wants another kiss, he wants good Harry kisses.

Harry laughs, low and amused, but he kisses George again, and again, his lips soft and insistent against George's. "I love how much you love kisses," he whispers. "I could kiss you forever and you'd be just fine, wouldn't you?"

George squeaks a little, because he can't speak or nod but he needs to say _yes, please_. He settles for clambering astride Harry and kissing him over and over, landing on lips and chin and dimples.

It makes Harry laugh again, his arms curling around George's waist and his face tipping up so that he can better receive George's kisses and return them, leaving off with a stinging tug with his teeth on George's lower lip.

"That's enough for now," Harry whispers. 

There are padding feet on the floor behind them as Louis comes into the kitchen again and sits at his place at the table. "Looks good, Harry. Thank you."

George doesn't miss the way it makes Harry's eyes glow or the little smile that bends Harry's mouth at Louis' words.

He still wants more kisses (doesn't think he'll ever have enough kisses from Harry) but he knows that now it's time to put on that show that Louis was talking about. And he does like being good for Louis.

"Turn over a minute for me, sweetheart," Harry murmurs. "I'm going to give you two more fingers, okay? Just to check."

George doesn't want to turn over; he just wants Harry to fuck him. He knows that he can only get that if he does as Harry says, though, so he squirms around and bends over for him.

The hard floor seems to dig into the soft space just under his kneecaps, but Harry kisses George's tailbone and he feels a little better.

Harry has such nice fingers, and George's back arches when two of them push inside of him, long and thin and curling just right.

"Good," Harry whispers. "You're getting another two at once now. Is that alright? Nod or shake."

George nods quickly. He wants so much to be full, and he knows that Harry's fingers aren't nearly as big as his cock but it'll do for now.

Harry doesn't say anything this time to give him praise, but the fingers he nudges inside, tucked tightly together, are reward enough.

George groans, softly, his shoulders dropping as his hips rock back against Harry's hand. It's not enough, he needs more, he needs Harry to _fuck_ him.

He manages to keep silent until Harry's fingers are scissoring open a bit, curling to stroke and press and tease all at once. Then George has to groan a strangled warning moan, because he's so hard and so needy and his cock is leaking so much that if Harry doesn't let George get on him _now_ , they might have to start all over.

"So eager for it," says Harry, his other hand stroking George's hip. He pats him there once. "Come back here, come on, I want inside you."

When George looks up at the table as he wriggles back around, Louis' eyes are on them as he spears a piece of penne, blowing on it once and then popping it into his mouth.

George can't help giving Louis a coquettish smile from beneath his fringe.

Louis' eyebrows raise imperiously but George can see the way his lips twitch as he takes another bite.

Harry's lip is a little pulled-tight pout as George knee-walks up over Harry's thighs; his cock looks huge and swollen and needy in its ring, and George touches it gently, stroking up the length of it a few times just to give Harry _something_ for being so patient.

It makes Harry shudder and he grasps George's hips, pulling him up where he wants him and kissing the center of his chest. "Lick," he instructs, holding his palm out against George's mouth.

George does, and sucks down on Harry's longest finger for good measure.

"Perfect," Harry praises as he slicks his hand down his cock, huffing out a quiet whine and then positioning himself so that he can carefully guide his dick inside George.

There's enough lube from all of the fingers that George has had in him, but it's still enough of a jolt that George stutters as he slides himself down onto Harry, taking a second to pause and breath before the last, fattest inch, sitting flush against Harry's thighs.

George is so out of breath that it takes him a moment to notice Harry's not actually moving. He has his head tipped back so it's clear for George to see the flush from his cheeks goes all the way down his neck and his lip is bitten red-raw, and George thinks that knowing he's helped make Harry look like this is the best thing he'll ever do.

He locks his fingers together loosely behind Harry's shoulders and leans down to kiss Harry's neck. The pulse under his lips is racing.

George can't even imagine how much Harry must be feeling. _He_ feels like he might implode, and he's not wearing the ring, but Harry is, and has been for ages, since George arrived, even.

Harry's hands settle on George's hips; his fingers are shaking and George wants to ask Harry for _his_ color, but he can't say a word. He nuzzles at the side of Harry's nose and waits.

Finally, after what seems like an hour but what must only be a minute, Harry's fingers tighten around George's hips and he lets out a huge breath, patting George's side. "Make it look good, Georgie, go on," he says through wet lips.

George doesn't just want to make it _look_ good, he wants to make it _feel_ good.

He braces his knees and lifts up, using Harry's shoulders to balance and then sliding back down as he spreads his legs wider. Harry deserves to feel amazing. George wants to be amazing for him. He really wants to kiss Harry again. Harry likes kissing, George knows that, and George likes kissing too. He wonders if Louis would like to watch them kiss. He could put on a show with kissing, and maybe Harry would be able to relax a little more.

Harry's lower lip is shiny, and George would want to kiss it even if he weren't so determined to make this all worth it for Harry.

He goes for it, slowly at first, so that if he isn't supposed to, Harry can tell him to stop. He doesn't, though, so George presses his lips to Harry's, swallowing the sounds he makes when George lifts and drops again.

George lets Harry move him for a minute to adjust the angles, although he has to pull away from the kiss to whimper despondently when _god_ it's just right, but Harry is in him so deep this way that it feels a little like George is dying.

He loves it.

He can't go very quickly or Harry will slip out of him and the sudden emptiness makes George feel like dying in a bad way. In some aspects, though, it's better to go slowly, to feel the deep, solid drag of Harry's cock so thick and long inside him that George has a moment of wondering if he doesn't just go on forever.

"George," Louis drawls from the table, "Lean back, please, hands on Harry's thighs. I can't see enough of you."

George has to take a moment before he feels like he can remove his hands from Harry's shoulders without just toppling over. He leans back slowly, carefully, his hands settling and then squeezing the muscles of Harry's thighs to keep upright.

Harry's cock jumps inside him and there's groan that might come from Harry and might come from George, he isn't sure.

The change in angle is _amazing_ , and George will have to thank Louis when he's allowed to speak again. Right now he's just enjoying it, the slide of Harry's cock as he pushes back into George.

George lets his head drop back and bites his lip. He has to just enjoy it, just feel, and there's a stretch and a burn but there's a _slow simmer_ , too, and it's so intense that George has to move. He lifts himself and ignores the creak in his knees as he starts to ride Harry in earnest.

" _Fuck_ ," he hears Harry say, under his breath and quick like he can't keep it inside anymore, and George thinks, _yes, yes, fuck me fuck me fuck me, that's what I want_.

Thighs already starting to warm, knees aching sharply like the floor is covered in concrete, but so happy and so determined and so _needy_. George rolls his hips as he bounces back down, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing aloud as his cock burbles a wet bead of precome. 

_He might come. He might really do it. He might come just from this_.

He doesn't think he would even need Harry to touch his cock at all. He could come just from Harry inside him and Louis watching them and this perfect fucking angle.

"I -- I -- " It slips out of his mouth before he can stop it, but he doesn't _care_ , this is important, this is something they've asked him to do, too, something he _really_ wants, and he wants to say _yes, please, keep it just like this, I'm gonna come, yes, let me come like this, I really think I can do it_.

He thinks he hears the sound of Louis' fork clacking down against the table but it might be all in his mind because all he can hear is the _thump-thump-thump_ of his heartbeat and he's so close, so very close, all he needs is Harry to keep fucking him just like this and he can _do_ it.

His thighs are absolutely screaming, and he may never be able to straighten his knees properly again. Brow furrowed. Lip between his teeth.

George's breath catches in his throat and his vision goes white and he thinks he can hear fucking birds singing when he comes, his fingers digging into Harry's skin and sweat dripping down his face but he's done it, he _did_ it and it feels _amazing_ , like nothing he's ever felt before. And he hasn't come in days, so it seems like it goes on forever, like he might die and come back and die again before it stops, like he can't even control his own body anymore and Harry's just fucking the come out of him, like Harry's fucked the _bones_ right out of him and he's all wobbly and things are moving even more slowly than they usually do when he's under, like he's reached a whole new depth.

He can't figure out which way is up or left or right or backwards now, and he knows he hasn't blacked out because he can still feel himself _coming_ , it hasn't stopped, and he's shaking by the time it does, shaking and boneless and completely exhausted.

Harry's stopped moving, George -- thinks, maybe, he isn't sure, he just knows that his face is cupped in Harry's hands and Harry is murmuring _shh, shh, sweetheart, that was perfect, you're so perfect, George_.

It's then that he realized he hasn't consciously taken a breath in quite some time, so he gasps one in, and his lungs are burning and his legs hurt like fucking mad but he _did_ it, he feels so _good_ because he did it for them and Harry's saying he did it right and he's so good, he's so good.

Once he's brought in the first breath, he can't stop gasping, every exhale a short moan because it's too much to have Harry still inside him but it's -- he thinks he could come again, _wants_ to, if Harry takes control and he can feel poor Harry still so achingly hard and not able to come himself.

"I need your color, please, sweetheart," he hears Harry say, and he's pressing kisses to George's cheeks and his mouth and his temples.

George fishmouths, eyes wide and beseeching.

"You can always talk to say your color, Georgie," Louis says from behind them. His words start on a cough, like he's watching so closely that his mouth is dry.

"Green?" George guesses in a croak. He's pretty sure he's green, he thinks he's greener than he's ever been. "Green," he moans, and his voice breaks a little which is embarrassing but he wants Harry to fuck him so hard he comes again so he pushes past it.

Harry's fingers are soft and gentle as they comb through George's sweaty hair. "Yeah?"

Once George takes another deep breath, he feels more certain. "Green," he repeats insistently, turning his head to kiss what he can reach of Harry's arm. "Please," he adds, "Green."

Harry's hand slides down over George's chest and belly through the mess of come and wraps so, so gently around George's cock. It's not hard now, at least not very, but it will be. George is sure of it. And he wants -- he wants this to be good enough that Harry will remember it and he wants it to be good enough that Louis will let Harry come.

Louis wants a show, he knows that, so he sucks in another breath of air and heaves himself up and then sits back down on Harry's cock, still so hard inside him.

The effort makes him whimper a little, and he still can't quite feel his fingers.

"Shhh," Harry murmurs. He pulls out of George and George lets out a long whine, but Harry just lies him down on the floor, licking down George's front, cleaning up come with his tongue, until he can nuzzle and lick at George's oversensitive cock.

It's too much, George thinks, but then he changes his mind: it's not enough. He wants more, he wants to come again, and he wants Harry to be able to come on him and lick it off just like he's doing with George's now.

Harry loves that. George is never exactly sure _why_ , but Harry loves it.

His mouth feels amazing against George's skin, hot and wet and his tongue is slick as he mouths at George's dick, cleans the stickiness that lingers there. George is hardening up again now, slowly, but surely.

He twitches his hips a little when Harry's tongue slides over the slit, and he isn't sure whether he's moving towards or away from the feeling.

Harry doesn't push, though, just licks gently at him until it stops feeling so good it hurts and just starts feeling good.

George is starting to really grow again when Harry pulls back and sits on his heels, hand wrapped around George's prick and stroking slowly.

"Y'alright, George?" Harry asks. "Feel good?"

George lifts his head enough to nod and then lets it fall back against the floor. It makes a thunking sound but it doesn't hurt and George can't find it in him to keep his head up for any longer than that.

After another minute, Louis murmurs, "Can you get hard faster for me, George? Really concentrate?"

He has no idea if he can concentrate on anything, but for Louis, George can at least try. His brow furrows and he bites his lip, steadying his breaths, in, out.

It's hard to think, so he doesn't. He knows, instead. He knows that if he gets hard, he'll get rewarded, and he'll get to have Harry fucking him again, and he knows that if he's good enough, it will mean that Harry's good, too, and Harry will get to come.

That's what he wants, and he's sure that's what Harry wants, too. He feels, and he wants, and his prick starts to fill up more quickly than it had, helped along by Harry's slow strokes.

"That's so good, George," Louis praises. "Touch yourself so Harry can take his cockring off."

George wants that for Harry, and for himself, so he trails his fingers down his chest and over his stomach to wrap around his dick. It's still sensitive but not so much that he can't stroke himself, up and down in the same rhythm Harry'd been using.

"Thank you," Harry whispers, and whether it's to Louis or to George, it's true.

He can hear the moment Harry removes the ring because Harry makes a noise like a sigh and a groan at the same time.

George forces his eyes open and Harry is beautiful, face open and amazed and the hand that used to be on George is wrapped around Harry's own dick, just holding it because he can finally feel everything properly again. There's a smear of George's come on Harry's cheek.

He looks gorgeous and happy and perfect and George wonders if he looks half as good to Harry as Harry does to him, because he doesn't even know if that's _possible_. Harry's broad and pale and his eyes glint green and George wants him so, so badly.

George spreads his legs wider, hissing at the burn in his thighs.

Harry leans over him, his muscles moving smoothly under his skin, and he hitches one of George's knees up to roll his hips and bury himself back inside him.

A little sore everywhere, George groans when Harry pushes back into him, and as soon as it's within reach, George bites hard at Harry's shoulder.

It makes Harry growl, and he bares his throat to give George an easy target while he pounds into him again, hard and steady without his ring on.  
George moans happily and latches onto Harry's neck, intent to worry at the same spot until he has a mark as dark and blue-brown-black as the ones Harry and Louis always give him. Louis has all kinds of marks on Harry, George just wants one, one mark to remind Harry until they see each other again of how good George is for him.

Harry makes a softly sweet sound just for George, just to let him know that he's doing well, he's doing just as Harry wants. George appreciates that, likes knowing Harry's happy with him even if he's not using words to say it.

Harry's hand strokes down over the length of George's side and around the curve of his thigh to his knee. George grunts when Harry pushes George's knee up high, suddenly, over the shoulder that George isn't biting.

It completely changes the angle, again, and yet again George feels like he could come from this alone, just for a second, just for a moment he feels like he could do it again, high still on the power from the last one.

"Shhh," Harry murmurs in George's ear, then kisses the shell. "Just relax and enjoy it; don't work so hard this time."

That's good, George can do that, because he doesn't know at all if he could actually do it again so soon. He tries to relax into it, even though his legs still hurt, because Harry's _good_ at this, like he always is. He's got a firm rhythm and his cock is amazing and George can bite him again from where he is. He bites down on the curve of Harry's shoulder and moans.

"Like your teeth," Harry mutters. "Like your whole little body."

George preens for a moment, sucking on the mark he's making and then biting down again, gently, breathing through it.

"So fucking fit, George, jesus." Harry's voice is a low, rasping rumble now, and George can tell Harry isn't going to last nearly as long as he usually does but he can't blame him, not at all.

What he can do is help him along, so George leaves one last sucking kiss to his mark and then leans back so that he can arch his spine and draw Harry even deeper, push his hips up against him.

"Oh, fuck -- George -- "

Harry sounds wrecked and George delights in knowing it was him who did it. It never gets less satisfying to know that he's the one making Harry fall apart.

The hot pulse of Harry's come inside him feels good, but George needs more than that to come again.

He has the fleeting fear that maybe Louis won't let him, that he'll have to put on the ring Harry's just taken off.

Louis doesn't say anything, though, and Harry wraps a hand around George even as he's still panting from his orgasm, jerking him quickly.

George whimpers and writhes and Harry's too far away to bite, so he turns his face to his own arm and bites at the pale, soft inside of his own arm.

"Good boy, I want you to come for me, all over yourself," Harry says in a low, ragged voice. "Make yourself messy for me, okay? I want to taste it, please, Georgie, I know you can come again."

George nods, but he -- doesn't know if he can, doesn't know how he could possibly have any come _left_ in him, but if Harry wants it, he'll have it. He will.

Harry palms over the head of his cock and kisses George's neck, then lower, biting one of his collarbones. "Do it for Lou, sweetheart, show yourself off, show him how good you are."

George hisses at that, nodding, and he bites his arm hard enough that he knows a bruise will bloom.

It's not the same when he does it, doesn't give him the same thrill as when Harry or Louis give him a bruise, but it helps, and he closes his eyes to focus on the throb of it, the ache, until he finally chokes and comes for the second time.

It isn't much, this time, and George is sorry. He really wanted to please Harry.

"Good boy," Harry whispers, though, kissing the underneath of George's chin. He kisses his way back down George's body to clean him up, gentle, kitten licks so he doesn't hurt him.

George is so oversensitive that it almost stings anyway like electricity. He whimpers and bucks, twitching away from Harry's mouth pathetically, too physically exhausted to do much.

"Shh, it's alright, babe, it's okay." That's Louis' voice, much closer than it was, and George opens his eyes to see he's knelt down beside George. He gives George a smile and brushes his hair back from his face. "You can speak now, darling, it's alright."

George opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He just wants to be held, wants cuddles and kisses. He wants to know he did well.

"You did so well, George, you did perfect, that was amazing." Louis leans down to kiss his head. "Thank you for giving me something nice to watch while I ate; that was so good of you."

George smiles at that. Smiles at Louis. He blinks slowly and smiles as the warm kitchen comes back into focus. Everything feels good, feels perfect.

"You look so good," Harry says to him. _Harry_ looks good, sweaty and sated and one long line of muscle and skin. "Such a pretty, perfect boy. I'm so proud of you."

George can't help it.

He giggles.

Louis' face sort of lights up, and he exchanges a glance with Harry before looking back to George. "What're you laughing at, Monkeyboy?" he asks, tickling underneath George's chin.

George just shakes his head and presses his lips to Louis' wrist. He can't stop giggling, he's just too -- he's too _glad_ , and he loves them so much and he wants them to know just how happy they make him.

He thinks Louis must understand, because he slides down on the floor next to George and kisses his jaw and murmurs, "I love you so much, even if you _are_ silly."

George murmurs wordlessly and noses at Louis' wrist. There's a tattoo there, black, and it belongs to Harry. He kisses the bone jutting from the side of Louis' wrist instead, since that doesn't belong to anyone and George wants it.

Louis' nose is warm as he pushes it underneath George's ear, his lips soft and a little bit damp. "The very best boy, you did so good, love, you deserve some of Harry's pesto. It's very good," he adds, with a look to Harry that George only vaguely registers.

George can't quite remember what Louis' talking about -- food? Why would George want food, that isn't Harry or Louis and he just wants them; why is there food? -- but he glows anyway because clearly Louis thinks it's a reward. George tilts his head so Louis can reach more of his neck, because maybe now he can get a lovebite.

"You look so gorgeous when you do that," murmurs Louis, and he kisses the side of George's neck softly. "Do you want me to give you a mark? All our other ones have faded."

George whimpers and stretches his neck long. He can see Harry now, with his head turned like this, and he beams at Harry because Harry is good, too, Harry is _amazing_.

Harry is smiling at him while Louis begins to give him the lovebite he wants, and George closes his eyes to savor the initial sting.

A second pair of soft lips press to George's collarbone.

He hums, softly, because he feels too nice to not be making any noise. He loves Louis' mouth, and he loves Harry's mouth, and he loves the contrast of gentle and biting and it's perfect both ways. Everything's so good right now that he doesn't think he could ever feel any better.

Harry doesn't bite him, though, and just touches his lips gently to George's collarbone a few times. "How d'you feel, George? Can you use your words?"

George doesn't want to use words. He wants to stay just like this, no speaking, nothing but him and Harry and Louis and they're saying sweet things to him and his neck aches where Louis' sucking on the mark he's left.

He whimpers a little bit instead of speaking, but manages to lift his hand and pet through Harry's hair. He has such nice hair.

Harry tilts his head into George's hand, ruffling his hair over George's fingers. "I'd really like it if you could use your words, Georgie," he says softly. "Can you tell us how you feel, please?"

George keeps petting through Harry's soft hair, paying attention to how the strands feel slipping through his knuckles, while the words swim their way liltingly through the silver-gold-white fog. He can see them, the shapes of the letters and sound little and pink and round and and bright, but it takes a long time before they can find his mouth.

"Good," he finally says, what feels like hours after Harry asked the question. He's not even sure if he's answering it right.

Harry bites him a little for that. "Is that all?"

George thinks that's probably all. He feels so, so good, so right and perfect and where he wants to be. "Yeah," he whispers, smiling to himself.

Harry hums contemplatively. "How about your knees? Do they hurt?"

George hums again, and carefully bends one of his knees up. It does hurt, a throbbing sort of bone-deep hurt, but it's nice, too. "I'm good," he says, rubbing his fingers against Harry's scalp.

"I know you are, sweetheart, how are just your knees?" Harry asks. "D'ypu want me to carry you for the rest of the night? Would that be nice?"

It sounds so nice that George can hardly stand it, imagining being all wrapped up in Harry's arms, so well-muscled and George knows -- he _knows_ Harry can lift him easily, because he does it all the time. He throws George over his shoulder or swings him up bridal-style or gives him piggybacks into the house. He could do it.

"Please?" George says hopefully, blinking his eyes open. His vision's a bit blurry so he blinks again until it clears.

Harry smiles and kisses George's ribs. "Of course, Georgie. You're such a good boy; you deserve it. You didn't stand up once all day since you got here."

He can feel the truth in that, in the knobs of his knees where they feel bruised but don't look it. His thighs still burn and his calves feel like rubber but it's all worth it because he's made Louis and Harry happy.

George beams and dips his head to kiss the top of Harry's head.

"I want to keep you forever," Harry says, his eyes actually _sparkling_ like a character from a romance novel. He kisses George's cheek, and then his other cheek, and then his nose. "Do you want to eat your pesto while we watch a movie?"

George blinks for a long time, so Louis finally moves away from the long, dotting column of bruises he's biting down the length of George's neck and chest. 

He kisses George's lips, sweet and giving, then bites pecks the end of George's nose. "Think about all of the parts of your body individually, and then decide what you need, and what you want. Then tell us, please. Are you hungry? D'you want a bath?"

It takes a moment for George to be able to think through the mass of fluffy clouds in his head. His legs sort of hurt. He feels sticky even though he knows Harry's cleaned him up with his mouth. His stomach's sort of rumbling, and he doesn't want to move, ever.

Hot water might feel good on his sore muscles. And he doesn't really like eating when he's covered in filth, although he's never tried. He doesn't think he'd like that, anyway.

"Bath?" he asks. "Before eating."

"Good boy," Louis whispers, kissing the delicate skin below George's eye. "Yeah, we'll have a bath, get you all clean."

George touches Louis' side. "Thank you."

"Of course." Louis smiles at him, soft and open, not at all as sharp as he can be sometimes. "Do you want us both with you?"

George nods immediately and enthusiastically, yes, yes, he wants both of them, he always wants them both.

"Both it is. Both in the bath." Harry leans down and nuzzles at George's neck to make him laugh before he scoops him up. George can barely tell when Harry gets to his feet, he's so smooth with the movement.

George nuzzles at Harry's neck all the way up the stairs. He wants to bite, but he's not allowed today since Harry and Louis have to go perform this week and can't have lovebites anywhere people might see.

He wishes he could, really, really wishes, but at least they won't bite each other, either. He thinks that's fair, as long as they can't bite each other when he can't bite them.

Harry keeps George on his lap while Louis runs the bath, and George keeps playing with Harry's hair. One of the curls is going the wrong way, and he keeps giggling and can't explain why better than _not one direction_.

Harry's nearly going cross-eyed trying to watch George and it's somehow the funniest thing George has ever seen, and he can't stop _laughing_ because he's just so _happy_.

"I can't tell whether you're back to yourself when you keep laughing like that," Louis comments, but he doesn't sound upset.

George doesn't know if he's back to himself either, and it doesn't matter because either way he's just happy. He likes being happy. Being happy makes him happy, he thinks, and that just sends him off into another fit of giggles.

"Ugh," Louis says. "Maybe a good dunk underwater will cure him. Splash him in, Harry."

Harry hefts George up like he weighs nothing, and he doesn't _throw_ George into the bath but he does lower him in quickly enough that there's a splash and the water rolls like it might go over the sides.

" _Oof_." It's hot enough that it makes George's skin prickle, but it does seem to clear away some of the foggy cobwebs in his head. He can certainly feel the ache in his thighs now, and he somehow always forgets just how sore he is after being fucked by Harry (and now he remembers twice over).

He blinks rapidly and thinks he sees Louis smile at him. 

"There we go, bit more yourself now, are you?" he asks, rubbing George's ankle under the water. "Not so giggly?"

George grins, nose wrinkled. "'M'always giggly."

"That you are," Louis agrees. He tickles the bottom of George's foot. "But you're talking now."

George nods and tilts back so that he can rest his head on the edge of the tub behind him. His lower back is twinging, too, and he isn't really sure whether he'll be able to walk tomorrow, but he knows that it was all worth whatever he gets.

The hot water is helping. Soothing, especially against his knees which are the sorest part of him that he can feel at the moment. Harry and Louis are gentle and attentive as they wash George, showering him with praise as they rub him all over. Harry even washes George's hair twice because it makes George moan so much.

It's not even sexual, it just feels _nice_ , and they give him soft kisses and when they dry him off they both have a towel, one in front of him and one behind, as they envelope him in fluffy warmth.

He grumbles when he has to stand to be dried, but when Louis raises an eyebrow, George just sheepishly says, "I know I _can_ stand, but my legs don't feel the same way."

"Would you like Harry to carry you again?" Louis offers. "It's not a problem, he's got stupidly strong since he was a noodly little boy."

George nods. "He did say he would."

"So he did, and our Harold's not one to break a promise." Louis' eyes are warm as he steps back to let Harry swing George up in his arms again.

George squeezes his arms around Harry as he gets a piggyback ride down the stairs to the kitchen. There's a little strain on his thighs this way, but he doesn't mind much.

He loves piggybacks, and Harry gives good ones because he's so tall and broad that George never feels like he's going to fall off.

While Harry sets about reheating enough food for himself and for George, Louis bundles George up with blankets on the sofa and curls beside him.

"So," Louis murmurs, brushing George's damp fringe out of his eyes, "Tell me about what you liked and didn't like today."

"I liked everything," says George immediately, burrowing down against Louis' shoulder. "Everything was amazing. Thank you so much."

Louis massages the back of George's neck and shoulders. "I'm really glad. What was your favorite thing?"

"Mmm. Making you happy." George leans up to kiss Louis' cheek. "I like making you happy. When I'm good."

Louis' thumb is gentle as it presses on the lovebite bruise behind George's ear. George hisses anyway.

"I like that you like that," Louis murmurs. "You're so good for me. Perfect for me and Harry. Did you like not being allowed to speak?"

"Yes," George says, because he liked it all. "I like when I have to try. When it's a little bit harder, so I have to work for it."

Louis kisses George's forehead. "Alright. How about your knees? How are they feeling now?"

"Bit sore," George admits. He likes this, in a way, talking about this now. He feels like he can do more if he knows what to be better doing. "Don't know if I'd be able to walk 'til tomorrow, anyway."

Louis winces. "Sorry. Guess it's good we didn't try that Saturday. Just in case."

"Not just in case," George says glumly. "Bottom two's gonna be us and Rylan. It's just down to the deadlock now."

"Hey, don't talk like that," Louis chides. "You don't know that. You thought it was going to be you and Rylan last week, too, didn't you? And then that whole thing happened instead."

George shrinks a bit at that, so Louis kisses him gently. "Sorry, love."

"No, it's okay. Better," he says, because it is. He doesn't miss Ella any less but she's called him every day since she's been gone, once from a loo in the middle of a meeting to talk about who she was going to sign with.

"Good, yeah, you seem like you're doing well," Louis says. He strokes George's cheek with his thumb. "Better than for a while there, even. That's why we thought we'd try being a bit stricter, like -- as a treat."

"I really liked it. Thank you," George says again. He doesn't think he can thank them enough, really.

He kisses Louis' cheek, liking the cut of stubble on his lips. "Love you."

Louis' mouth curves into a smile that George can feel against his lips, and he doesn't move away. "Love you, too," Louis says, his arm tightening where it's curled around George's shoulders.

George sighs happily and rests his cheek against Louis' shoulder. They stay where they are until Harry appears with two bowls of food, and he flumps down on the sofa on George's other side.

"I hope it's as good warmed up," he says, nudging the warm bowl against George's knee. George takes it without moving away from Louis, and Harry squirms closer on George's other side, and it feels like home.

"What d'we wanna watch, boys?" Louis asks. His arm slides around George's shoulders so his fingertips can touch Harry's arm.

George groans instead of answering, his mouth full of something that tastes like it must have been crafted by a fucking angel.

"Hey, Harry, I think he likes it," Louis says, laughing a little, and Harry straightens his back with pride.

"I would eat this every day," George says with his mouth full.

Harry and Louis glance at each other. "Should we arrange that?"

"Can you teach the hotel chefs how to make it?" George asks, nearly burning his tongue on the next bite. "And the other Js, so that I can have it on tour? And teach my mum how to make it?"

"I could teach _you_ ," Harry says, laughing. "Make things simpler on everyone else you know."

"That, too," George agrees. He finishes his bowl in what feels like record time, the fastest he's eaten anything in ages. "Wow," he sighs happily.

"Easily impressed," Harry snorts. He still has half of his food left. "Ridiculous George. I do love you, though."

"I love you, too," George says, because he doesn't think he's told him yet and Harry deserves to know.

Harry smiles and leans over to kiss George. From behind them, Louis ruffles both of their hair.

His life is perfect. George knows that there's no way his life can be any better than it is right now.

"Can we watch _Paranormal Activity_ again?"

Harry groans and slumps down in his seat, pressing his forehead against George's shoulder. "Why?" he moans in despair. "Why?"

George slumps a bit. "I want you to like it. If you know when the scary bits are, then it's not scary, anyway. It's just a jumpy scary movie, so the second time isn't as bad."

There's a gentle bite on George's arm and then Harry's eyes looking up at him. "Will you hold me?" he asks dramatically, feigning a swoon.

George grins. "It would be my pleasure."

Harry breaks into a grin and situates himself under George's arm, his head pillowed on George's chest. For someone so tall and lanky, he manages to fit himself into places George wouldn't think he'd be able to.

"You're like an octopus," he comments idly, and starts to pet Harry's hair. He's mostly back to himself, but feels like there's a little film of soft white clouds pillowing his brain. It's fogging up his brain-to-mouth filter.

Harry looks up at him again, his eyes dancing. "An octopus?" he asks, making a loud sucking noise with his lips against George's chest.

George shrugs. "They can fit into really small spaces you wouldn't think they could. They can also memorize locking codes and turn their tentacles into perfect keys. If you want something _really_ scary, watch an octopus documentary alone at half-three in the morning."

"Is that a thing you do?" Louis asks curiously from his other side. "Watch documentaries about octopus burglars at three in the morning?"

"I don't really sleep much," George says. "I drink coffee all day."

"I've noticed." Louis kisses the side of George's head. "Are you full, by the way? Did you want anything else to eat; drink?"

George tilts his head and smiles cheekily. "Coffee?"

Louis taps George's nose. "I'll see what I can do," he replies with a smile of his own. "Don't start the movie without me, though; I like watching Harry cower."

Once Louis is gone, Harry lifts his head and noses at the curve beneath George's jaw. "How you doing, Georgie?"

"Good." George recognizes Harry's need to see for himself that George is alright. It's horribly endearing. "Really good, yeah."

"Was it too much, a second time straight away?"

"No, you were amazing." George shakes his head so that his nose brushes against Harry's. "There was, you know, when there's some time in between it's not as bad."

Harry kisses him. "You were really, really good. Perfect George. Was it a bit -- you looked overwhelmed? But you stayed conscious. That was good. What did you think about it?"

"It was sort of overwhelming," George admits. "But I liked it. I liked it all, so much."

"I was surprised you could already," Harry says. "Come without being touched."

"It's 'cause I haven't for days, I think," George says, eyes wide. "But I don't mind, if I know -- like, I'll do whatever I can if I know something good is coming at the end of it."

"And it was good?" Harry checks. "Do you think you could do it again sometime? Not every time, you don't have to every time."

"Yeah, I could do it again," George says. "I want to get better at it."

"You did so well today, though, better than I could've imagined." Harry kisses his forehead. "You know that, right?"

George smiles and rests his forehead against Harry's. "I'm really happy."

"I'm glad. I like when you're happy." Harry sets a hand on the side of George's neck and brushes his thumb over the place where his pulse is thumping. "I like when we can make you happy."

George nods. He's quiet for a moment before he says, "Been -- a while, since I was _just_ happy when I left here. Well, happy and sore."

"Good, though?" Harry asks, meeting George's eyes.

"Really good," George promises. "I feel better in general. I don't know why, since I miss Ella terribly, but -- I feel more, like normal."

"I like normal you," says Harry. "I like all yous, but I really really like normal you."

George grins, glowing and warming inside because -- it's true, Harry does like normal George, just George. And Normal George can still be submissive and be himself, and Normal George can be on X Factor and be himself, and Normal George can eat whole plates of food and be himself. It's good. He _is_ happy.

Harry kisses George once and then his voice goes low. "Love you," he says quietly. George doesn't know if he thinks George needs to hear it often or if Harry's just the type of person who likes to say it.

George doesn't, particularly. Another way he and Harry are different, he supposes. He kisses the corner of Harry's mouth instead.

It's good that Harry doesn't seem to mind, because he just kisses George back and then moves back down to lay his head against George's chest.

Louis traipses back into the room with a coffee, a tea, and an orange juice.

" _Thank you_ ," George says, nearly diving for the coffee. It's actually good Louis holds it out of reach for a moment or he'd almost definitely have knocked it over.

"You two noodles need to scoot, there's no room for my arse on the sofa."

"There's no room for it anywhere," Harry retorts, but he wriggles down so that George can shuffle over and make room for Louis.

Once they're all sharing the couch again, Louis switches on the movie, and George watches until -- despite the coffee -- the exhaustion in his bones makes him drift off to sleep, cocooned in blankets and Harry's warm limbs.

He does have a little bit of trouble walking in the morning, but Harry carries him to the car to take him back to the hotel, so it's not as bad as it could be. Even the trek across the lobby to get up to his and Jaymi's room isn't so bad when he can lean against the wall of the elevator.

The real trouble comes in rehearsals, because he can't bullshit the choreography and they need to get it down for _two_ songs, and Harry can't exactly carry him through the numbers.

"Are you alright?" JJ asks while Jaymi is working on a solo. "Do you need an Anacin?"

"No, no, I'm alright," George insists, stretching one leg out and then the other. He doesn't even know if Anacin would help. Does it work on sex-injuries? It must. "Maybe," he amends when his knee twinges.

"Jesus, what did you even do?" JJ asks, looking him over. "You look like you got thrown off a horse."

George's brain makes up several jokes about 'hung like a horse' and 'riding' that he decides to never, ever tell JJ, and instead he shrugs. "Screwed them up a bit yesterday. Should be alright by the show."

JJ raises one eyebrow. "Just guessing by the gait, but I'd say you're the one who got screwed yesterday."

It's such a _JJ_ joke to make that George finds himself lapsing into giggles again, and he has to cover his mouth to muffle them before they get too loud.

"What?" JJ asks. "George, honestly, if you can't talk about sex without giggling, you shouldn't be having it."

"No, no, it's just," George sputters, because now he's started he can't stop. "It's just it's _true_ and I can barely _walk_ because of it, this is _ridiculous_ , and it's my _life_."

JJ makes a face. "I'll get some ice. You should sit. Can you sit? I don't want to know, actually."

"Yeah, yeah, I can sit," George assures, hobbling into a chair and smiling at JJ. "See? No worries."

JJ pats George's shoulder. "Ice, then. And Anacin. Maybe liquor."

As soon as he's gone, George fishes his mobile from his pocket and texts Ella. _Missing you X_

She texts back quickly. It's around the time she usually has to talk during the day. _Miss u 2 monkey!!_

George smiles a bit and texts her back and forth for a while, hearing all about the glamorous world of touring around the UK and sitting in meetings wherein Simon Cowell and other bigwigs fight over the rights to your life.

He senses more than sees someone take the seat next to him, and when he finishes off his next text to Ella, he glances up to see it's Christopher. He's got the next slot, George is pretty sure. He'd make conversation, if it was Jahmene or even James, but Christopher's made it clear he's not really in the competition to make friends. Or, if he is, he's not doing a very good job of it.

George's phone buzzes, so he looks back down at the newest message from Ella -- _there's black loo roll in the Sony office, what in the world?? Xx_

He snorts out a laugh, and next to him, Christopher makes this sort of huffing sound.

"If you're going to just sit around and do nothing, I don't see why you can't do it somewhere else. Some of us need to actually rehearse, and can't rely on legions of teenage girls to keep us here," he says with a pinched face that makes him look a bit like a grumpy boiled egg.

George frowns. "Jaymi's doing a solo, there's not much else I should be doing besides not disturbing him."

"That's right, you never actually sing," Christopher says. "And now that Ella's finally gone, you don't even have to take time out to pretend to be straight."

It stings, and it shouldn't, because George doesn't care in the _slightest_ what Christopher's opinion of him is, but it makes him angry. Sad and angry, because -- because Ella's gone, and Christopher's still here, and that's not fair at all.

George's throat jumps a bit. If Christopher is slinging mud, then so can he. "Yeah, you never do."

Christopher squawks, and there's no hint of that smarmy look on his face now. "And you do a horrible job of it, like anyone would believe you'd honestly like a fat cow like _Ella_ ," Christopher says. "You think it's some big secret that you're sucking off the One Direction boys all at once for votes, but it's not. Probably did half the crew just to get put back on the show."

George's mouth opens and closes without any words coming out. He can't think, can barely breathe, because how can anyone be so mindlessly cruel? He knows none of it's true, Ella's gorgeous and he's not sucking off all of One Direction, and even if he were, it wouldn't be for votes, and he hasn't, he doesn't, it's not. He's _not_.

"Hey, why don't you fuck off back to your nan," snaps a voice from next to him, an arm hooking around his shoulder. "Considering she's the only person who actually likes you."

Josh's eyebrows have pulled together and he looks more than angry, he looks furious, eyes narrowed at Christopher.

"Not just her, seeing as even though you're pimping out George, you've still been in the bottom two twice and I'm going to win."

"You'll fade into obscurity within the year." Josh sounds very calm. "And we all know it."

"Better than being obscure in my own band," Christopher says. He juts his chin, or what exists of it, at Josh. "Has anyone mentioned you, ever? Or is it all about the twink? He's why you're through and Jaymi's the only vocal."

"At least we've got one vocal. What've you got, aside from a phone bill a mile long?" For a second, George thinks Josh might actually spit at Christopher.

"I'm the people's champion. I don't have to to build a career on a fat beard and being a whore."

"You're nothing. And you won't have a face much longer if you don't go away." Josh's grip on George's arm is tight, so tight it almost hurts. " _Now_."

"It's _my_ rehearsal time. Jaymi can sing by himself in the corridor just as well as he can in here."

"And I can punch you in the face just as well in here as in the corridor, d'you want me to show you?" asks Josh, and when he takes half a step forward, Christopher flinches back.

"That's what I thought," scoffs Josh. "Come on, George."

They leave Christopher to fume on his own, Josh tugging George along gently because his feet aren't working properly. "Did you really just do that?" he asks quietly, looking at Josh with a mixture of confusion and thanks.

"You aren't doing it for votes," Josh says shortly. "And what he said -- he shouldn't have said."

"I know that," says George automatically. He does know that, and Christopher shouldn't say, well, most of the things he says. "But, but _you_ just did that."

"I miss Ella," Josh says. "And... we wouldn't have made it without you, so you deserve to be here. He got in after being cut, too, so it was just -- hypocritical."

"It was," George agrees. "Yeah, you're right, it was." He shakes his head a little, and gives Josh a small smile. "Thank you."

Josh looks a little uncomfortable, but wraps his arm around George's neck in a little hug.  
"Stop, don't mention it."

"No, but I really -- thank you," George repeats. They've come so far from where they were at the beginning of all this.

Josh doesn't look at him as he leads George down the corridor. "It's just, he's wrong. You like making people happy. It's why you're the most popular one. You _do_ make people happy. 'S'more than he does."

"I do like making people happy," says George, smiling because this is really nice, feeling like Josh might actually -- not hate him. "He's a dick."

"He is a dick. A really big one. No! A really, really small one. Like one of those mythical ones the size of a pinkie nail. Teeny weenie."

George giggles.

"There, good. Don't let him make you stop smiling." Josh nods firmly. "We need that smile."

George ducks his head.

"And your guitar," Josh amends. "And your harmonies."

"Harmonies!" George groans. "My least favorite word."

"And mine, but we're getting better." Josh ruffles George's hair. "Come on, Jaymi'll be almost done, then we can go out and get something to eat or something."

"I want to do something fun," George says. "We've been in London ages and haven't really had a chance to see any of it."

"That's true," Josh agrees, a thoughtful look coming to his face. "Maybe we can find a club. You look about twelve, but you've got an ID, haven't you?"

"Har har," George laughs drolly. "Of course I do. I got in at Rylan's birthday, didn't I?"

"Well, that's because we were dressed identical." Josh pops his collar. "You were in my crew, and ain't nobody fresher than my motherfucking clique."

"Oh, is that why?" George asks, flicking Josh's collar. "Am I in your clique, then?"

"Only if we dress identical." Josh flicks George back. "Good thing we're in a boy band. Identical's sort of our thing."

"We'll all have quiffs by the end of the competition." George self-consciously pats his hair. "I'd look ridiculous with a quiff. I've got a massive forehead."

"Have you?" Josh asks. "Is that your one fault?"

George rolls his eyes, but he can feel himself going red. He wishes he didn't blush so easily. "Yeah, just the one."

Josh sucks in his cheeks to accentuate his cheekbones, tilts his head, and speaks in a high-pitched American accent. "So you agree? You think you're really pretty?"

He can't help it, his automatic reaction is to wrinkle his nose and laugh, ducking his head.

"Sorry." Josh sounds genuinely humiliated, which George notices he does _a lot_. He wonders vaguely whether that might be a normal-weird _thing_ for Josh.

It's none of his, though, so he just shakes his head. "No, no, let's just -- I haven't had a drink in ages and I really want one."

Josh smiles a little sadly and nods. "I dunno bro, I just wanna, like, I just wanna dance." He strikes a ridiculous pose. George dissolves in giggles and Josh cracks that sideways smile he does whenever things are actually funny and laughs a little, too. "Nah, I wanna get laid. This haircut better have the charm on the ladies that Jamie keeps promising."

"It does," George swears. "It makes you look so boy band that when I look at you, all I can think is 'god must have spent a little more time on Josh.'"

"That's what makes me beautiful," Josh agrees dryly.

"Exactly." George grins at him. "You look really good, yeah, I don't think you'll have any problems."

JJ seems up for the idea for going out as well, and sometimes George forgets that JJ's so much older than him, five years older, and he's probably used to a whole different life than the one he's got now. 

The day, of course, seems to be so much longer now that George has something to look forward to. It seems like years before he's getting out of a car (with a minder -- he needs a _minder_ when he goes out now, like he's properly famous -- and it makes him wonder how much different his life would be if he'd had a minder that first night, someone who wouldn't have let him go with Harry and Louis) outside a club with music pouring out of the doors.

"Right, now don't do anything too embarrassing," Josh says. "And don't fuck up my swerve."

"And _we're_ the ones you're worried will be embarrassing?" Jaymi asks drolly.

Josh shoots him a look, touching his hair to make sure it's in place. "Just don't fuck it up."

Jaymi shakes his head fondly and slings an arm over George's neck. "Y'alright little Georgie? I heard a rumor from Rylan that Baloney was giving you shit."

"Yeah, I'm fine." George smiles at him, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. "Josh stood up for me. My big strong hero."

"Yeah, he's beef," Jaymi says, and rolls his eyes.

"See, I told you. He's beef, and beef is always better than Baloney." George laughs at himself, pressing his face against Jaymi's shoulder.

"Oh, god, Georgie's already drunk," Jaymi groans. "We haven't even got inside yet."

"No, no, it's Harry, I think, I'm picking up his sense of humor. It's awful, save me." George laughs again, and covers his mouth with his hands.

"Come on, little George, let's get you so drunk you forget all about puns."

"Oh, that sounds brilliant, let's do that," George agrees, bouncing on his toes. He can almost taste the alcohol, though to be honest, it might just be the fumes from all the people around them.

So he drinks.

Rather a lot.

He really hasn't in ages, at least not this much. Maybe never this much.

The club is writhing, although it's a weekday so it's not as full as it might be otherwise. Not nearly as full as it had been for Rylan's birthday, or the first night George met Harry and Louis.

He starts out slowly but that doesn't last long. He likes the fruity blue drinks enough that he thinks he could drink only them for the rest of the night. But why should he, when there are so many choices?

Once he's got a good buzz going, George actually ventures out onto the floor. He isn't looking for anything, turning the collar around and around on his wrist, but he likes the energy.

He's startled when someone taps his shoulder, just because it's such a deliberate touch when he's used to people brushing past him or dancing into him accidentally.

"Buy you a drink?" Nick Grimshaw asks. "I'm just going to keep asking until you say yes. One of these days."

He fits in really well amongst everyone else there, dressed casually and giving George one of those absurdly charming smiles from beneath his bouncing quiff. It suits him rather more than it would suit George. "If you're offering, I won't say no," he says with a smile. He's wary, but loose with the drinks in him, and Nick's always been nice to him.

"Really?" Nick sounds surprised. Not charmed, particularly, or delighted, but surprised. "Louis' loosened his reins?"

"Tightened them, probably," murmurs George, thinking of his collar. "It's not like he's banned me from talking to you, or anything."

"He is gracious that way." It's a wonder anyone can sound so bored and enthusiastic all at once.

That's probably why he's got his job; his voice can run the whole gamut of emotions all at once. George wishes, slightly enviously, that he could do that with his own voice.

"Just stand here and wait," Nick says, and George listens, stands there and waits while Nick goes up to the bar to flag down two drinks, and he kind of thinks -- yeah, he can see how Harry would end up how he did. And why Louis _despises_ Nick.

It's weird, he thinks, how he knows so much about Nick without really knowing anything about Nick. There is part of him, try as he might, that can't really stop being very cautious around him. It's like his subconscious can sense that he needs to keep a bit of distance. He likes his subconscious, it tends to steer him in the right direction.

He giggles a little. Oh, dear, not drunk enough then. Puns.

"What's the joke, love?" Nick asks him, handing George a drink and sipping his own. George looks at his. One of the blue ones! Well, Nick Grimshaw isn't all bad, he supposes.

George shakes his head. Nick throws back the shot without using his hands, but George -- has a weird hunch that Louis wouldn't like that, and doesn't do the same.

"Don't you have your show in the morning?" he asks, taking a careful drink. "Like, early? Shouldn't you be asleep by now?" He lets his voice lilt at the end, just a hint of teasing to make it a joke.

"I'm a vampire," Nick says easily. "And I'm Northern."

"Oh, I see." George raises his eyebrows. "Should've known. From the Northern."

"Cheers." Nick produces another pair of shots seemingly out of nowhere (although that may be because George really is getting pretty tipsy).

He takes this one faster, because if he's going there he might as well do it quickly. He misses being drunk. It's loose and easy and he likes feeling out of control of himself.

Nick gives him a Look, capital L, and George remembers -- oh, yeah. He does like feeling out of control of himself. That's how this whole thing began, isn't it.

It's so weird to think that the last time he went out like this, nobody paid attention to him, and now he's talking to Nick Grimshaw and sleeping with Harry and Louis. Everything's gone weird. Good weird, for the most part, but it's odd to think about.

"How you doing, New Harry?" Nick asks. "Besides swaying on your feet."

That makes George laugh, but he's not sure there's anything left in the world he wouldn't laugh at. "My name's George, you know," he informs Nick. "And I don't really look all that much like Harry."

"You do in all the ways that count," says Nick, and it makes George wibble a little because no, Louis wouldn't like that at all (but it's still a little nice to hear, because Harry is lovely).

He licks his lips, sugary-sweet with fruity alcohol and it makes him giggle again. Oh, he's definitely well on his way to drunk, if he's not there already.

"You look better," Nick says, leaning against the wall next to George. "Than you were, last time I saw you. You look more yourself."

"How would you know?" George giggles. "You don't even call me by name."

"I can tell; it's a specialty of mine." Nick tips his drink toward George. "You just look better. Like you're handling yourself. Or like the people handling you are better at it."

George's eyes narrow. "Did you talk to Harry about me again?"

Nick holds his hands up in surrender. "I talk to Harold about all sorts of things. Only natural you'd come up now and again."

George frowns mightily, because he'd _told_ Harry that he didn't want the particulars of his naked self discussed with strangers.

"He's stopped talking about your arse, if that's what you look so grumpy over," Nick assures him. "Much to my disappointment."

George clenches it a little anyway, and immediately regrets it as he's still fairly sore everywhere below the eyebrows.

"I just meant you don't look... You look like you're up a bit more," Nick continues. "Healthier."

George goes a little pink around the cheeks, and it's only partially down to the alcohol. "Thank... you?"

Nick's gaze sweeps over him, and it's just appreciative enough that George goes more red. "You're welcome," Nick finally says, smiling and tilting his head so that his hair flops over.

"I'm still not going to fuck you," George says clearly, and when Nick opens his mouth, he quickly adds, "Or let you fuck me."

Nick snaps his fingers, but his expression remains amiable. "You'll let me know, though, if you ever change your mind?" he adds. "You won't be disappointed."

George wrinkles his nose. "I dunno. You're not Harry. You're not even New Harry."

Nick's eyes light up. "Too right I'm not. Neither is Tomlinson," he points out.

George can't help the little grin that spreads over his face. "No. He's Louis."

"Oh, you're so far gone for him, it's sort of sweet, in a way." Nick tosses back another drink. "He does inspire that sort of thing in people."

Nick shakes his head in distraction. "God fucking knows why."

"Don't," says George severely, frowning now. "Don't be mean. We were having a nice conversation."

Nick doesn't apologize, but he does raise his eyebrows and produce another blue drink for George, who takes it.

"These are my favorites," he says petulantly, drinking half of it.

"I can tell," Nick says. "You were drinking one when I came up to you. It's all in the details."

"Yeah? What else can you tell?" George raises his eyebrows, trying to imitate Nick's expression. "Other than I look healthy and I like blue drinks?"

Nick's smile is slow to spread. "A lot of things, New Harry."

"George," George corrects him, licking his lips again. "If you're going to look at me like that, you could at least call me by name."

"Ooh, you're sassier than I expected when you're actually yourself," Nick says. "Got a bit of Tomlinson in you, too. Not just Harry. Then again you did say you were their kid, but I'm choosing not to ask about your fetishes right now."

"Oh, god, no," George groans, slumping against the wall. "No, please, I try not to think about that. It's too weird."

"I don't judge," Nick says. "I was once accused of being Harry's dad."

"Yeah, but nobody actually thinks you _are_ ," George grumbles. "Nobody tweets at you asking if you're _really_ his time-traveling arsekid from the future."

"Your fault for being young and pretty. Your demographic is bonkers." Nick laughs. "Any way to get votes, I guess."

George frowns, because he's had quite enough of that today, thank you, and he _would_ like to think that their own fans like Union J's singing alright, too.

"If you make it to the top three, I get to interview you," Nick tells him, producing another drink. Where is he _getting_ them? "So you'd better make it that far. I'm most excited about you."

George looks up. "You wouldn't ask me horrible things on the radio, would you?"

Nick looks legitimately aghast. "I do have a little bit of professional morality, I'll have you know. Besides, any horrible thing I could ask you would probably just get you more votes."

"Oh," George says, and considers this. It's certainly true that people love all the stupid shit Nick makes Harry do, like wearing that meat suit at the park. "Well, steady on then."

He drinks so much he forgets how many he's had, and everyone sort of blurs into each other. Twice he thinks he sees Harry only to realize once he gets closer they're just tall girls with curly hair.

Once, it's a mirror, and he giggles at himself for such a long time that people start edging away from the mad man and JJ has to come shepherd him off.

JJ, it transpires, is a good person to be drunk with. He's very exuberant, and doesn't really seem to be operating on a different level from usual otherwise. He keeps close to George after that and teaches him how to do those test tube shots, the sticky ones.

And he doesn't seem to mind that George keeps grabbing for him. It's not his fault he gets even clingier when he's drunk, and JJ's got arms that are really good for holding on to while you down a drink.

George pets JJ's quiff. "Little pineapple," he coos fondly.

"I think you've had quite enough," JJ says back, a little less fondly.

"I haven't had anything pineapple," argues George, very sensibly. "I should have something pineapple. A little JJ in a glass." He laughs to himself.

JJ wrinkles his nose. "Gross. I don't think Little JJ and glass would mix well. Not when your hands are shaky, you're like to cut him off."

"My hands aren't shaky!" George holds his hands up. They're very steady, but the club seems to be shaking a little bit. "Still as a pond."

JJ laughs at that for no reason and pokes at George's hand, and they devolve into a poking war.

George almost goes tripping over his own feet when JJ pokes him particularly viciously and he has to grab the back of the nearest chair so he doesn't brain himself on it.

Josh swoops out of nowhere, looking a bit disheveled but otherwise fresh as a daisy, and rights George.

"Alright, Georgie?"

He laughs, for no reason other than Josh being there with his perfectly coiffed hair and his perfectly chiseled face and even his _clothes_ look perfect. "You're like a Ken doll," he informs Josh, clinging on to his arm.

"Okay, George," Josh says gamely. "Thank you, I think."

"You're welcome!" George gives Josh a better cuddle, humming under his breath.

George realizes that Josh is, actually, quite good for using to _stand_ , and since the floor isn't helping him do that very well at the moment, he's just going to hang off Josh.

"God, you're heavy," Josh grunts. "Not like -- not mean way, just there's suddenly 12 stone of man hanging off my arm. Put your fucking feet on the floor, George."

"I'm a monkey," George slurs happily. "Ooh-ooh!"

"Your hand is sharp," Josh says. "What is that?"

"Shhhh," George whispers, and pushes his wrist harder into the flesh of Josh's forearm. "'S'not sharp, 's'all beads. 'S'round."

"Oh, god, it hasn't been in your bum, has it?"

"No!" George giggles, climbing up to sit piggyback on Josh and sort of draping his chest a bit over Josh's head. "Ever'one asks that."

"Maybe that says a lot about how much stuff goes in your bum." Josh's arms flail a little and his voice is muffled when he has to duck his head. "Too much stuff. What's it for, then, if not to put in your bum?"

"I can't tell you," George whispers conspiratorially. "But's'important. To me."

"Oh, alright. I think we should probably get out of here before you can't talk anymore." Josh shifts and then grunts again, gripping George's thighs so he doesn't fall. "You already can't walk properly."

"Monkeys don't walk," George says patiently. He pats Josh's chest lazily. "Silly."

He smiles to himself, remembering just how good he is at not walking when he's been told not to.

"Of course they don't," replies Josh, patient and slow. "We should still go. It's late, and we've got another early rehearsal tomorrow."

"M'kay," George mumbles. He flops down a little more, and Josh grunts _oh, fuck it_ and then George is on the floor. Josh does help him steady on his feet, though, which is nice of him.

"Come on, you're with me so you don't get lost. It's easier than pinning my name to your collar or something." Josh hooks his fingers in one of George's belt loops to pull him along toward a blonde woman George vaguely recognizes as being part of their escort.

George waves. "Hi!"

"Hello." She bobs her head at him and smiles, or at least he thinks she does. He can't really see very well. "Are we all ready to go?"

George frowns a bit. "Why?"

"It's late, George," Josh repeats. "We have to get back so that we can sleep. Early rehearsal tomorrow."

George sighs heavily. "Oh. Are JJ and Jaymi coming home, too?"

"I think Jaymi's gone back already, but someone's gone to get JJ," the woman confirms. She looks nice. Maybe she would give George a piggyback since Josh won't.

"Good." George nods. "Then he can carry me. You don't have to."

"I suppose," The woman (he really should find out her name, he feels awfully rude) says slowly. Maybe she didn't intend on piggybacking him.

George looks over at Josh and frowns. "What's her name? I forgot. Wait, does it start with a J?"

"No," Josh says, and he looks amused. "Not everyone's name starts with a J. Just most people. The best ones. Her name's Stephanie, George."

"Oh, right!" George starts giggling. "I know Stephanie. She lives at the hotel."

"Yes, she does. And that's where we're going." Josh pats George's back. "Remember?"

"Oh, right," George says sagely. "Monkeys live in hotels."

"That's right, they do." Josh sighs, nudging George forward. "I'm in a different car from you, I think, so can you stay here with Stephanie until they find JJ?"

"Okay!" George beams. Everyone is so _nice_ today. Except Christopher, he wasn't nice. He'll have to tell Louis what he said later.

Maybe he can phone Louis later. Before he sleeps. He misses him, and Harry, and even if it's late maybe they'll still be awake.

Maybe they'll be fucking. Maybe he can Skype them and watch.

George hums to himself and smiles. He likes watching them together. They look so good together and he hardly ever gets to see it because when he's there, they focus mostly on him. That's not a problem, of course, but he does like the way they look when they touch each other.

"What's up with you?" Stephanie asks. Josh has wandered off somewhere. "I saw you drinking with Nick Grimshaw; are you alright?"

"Yes," says George decisively. He doesn't remember much about his conversation with Nick, but he knows that Nick said he looks better. He feels better, too, drink aside. "He just wanted a chat."

"I bet he did," Stephanie mutters. "Can you walk to the car?"

George considers this for a moment. "Monkeys don't walk."

"I'm not carrying you," she says flatly. "It's either walk or crawl."

George sighs and flumps a bit. "I'll walk. My knees hurt."

"Good. It'd be hard to keep track of you if you were crawling." Stephanie texts something quickly, probably telling someone they're about to leave. It's so weird that they need people to know where they are now.

George takes two steps in one direction, and then, for good measure, two in the opposite.

"George," says Stephanie wearily. "Come on, follow me." She sets a hand on his shoulder and steers him the right way.

George keeps walking in a zigzag, just because it's fun. Stephanie sighs, and then she slides her hand into his and tugs him along in a boring straight line.

"There are cameras. Don't pay them any mind. You can cover your eyes if the flashes hurt." She pushes open the door. "The car's down the street a bit."

"Okay." George grins. He sticks his tongue out at the first camera he sees.

Stephanie doesn't say anything, but George thinks she approves. Everyone should appoive. Sticking your tongue out at people is great fun.

He keeps doing it, letting Stephanie tug him over to the van.

"In you get," she urges, opening his door for him. That was very nice of her. He gives her a hug to say thank you.

When he turns to look at the van, though, where JJ is already waiting, sticking out his own tongue for the paparazzi and making that weird face he always makes that always makes George laugh, it looks.

Well, it looks like a fucking Temple Maze or something from Nickelodeon when he was a kid. There is no way to get into this van.

It's like climbing Everest. There's no way George can do it and especially not when he's as drunk as he is. He has to, though, or everyone will be upset with him, and he doesn't want that.

It takes a heave to even get himself in the door, and then everything goes a bit topsy-turvy.

[Somehow, he ends up lying over the top of a seat, and he knows his bum is probably in someone's face, but he can't quite figure out how to get down. "Monkeys don't climb cars," he says despondently.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me95jiT9Fh1rl24tto3_250.png)

"They don't do it very well, anyway," JJ says. He thinks it's JJ. It _sounds_ like JJ, but George can't really see him.

"Help me!"

"I don't think there's anything I can do." There's a tug on one of George's arms. "Which way do you want to go? Up here or back there?"

"Anywhere," George says glumly.

JJ pushes George harder than he really needs to be pushed and he goes tumbling over into the very back of the car, which smells like floor polish and dust.

"Oh!" He sits back up. "But I wanted to sit up there!"

"You said anywhere!" JJ protests, but a hand appears over the back of the seat and George grabs it to try and pull himself over again. It's made all the more difficult when the car starts moving.

He ends up toppling half onto JJ and snuggling there. "I'm gonna stay here." He pats JJ's leg. "Don't throw me again."

"I won't throw you," JJ grumbles. "You told me to help." He doesn't push George off, so that's a plus.

George rests his head on the curve of JJ's neck and mutters, "I'm'onna sleep now."

"Okay, monkey." JJ pets George's hair and it feels quite nice. "Don't throw up on me."

"Not gonna," George assures him. He does fall asleep, he thinks; he must, because next thing he knows, he's waking up in very much not his own bed in not his own room in the hotel. Josh is puttering around on the other side of the room, making a cup of tea, so it must be JJ- and Josh's room.

His head hurts dreadfully, and his stomach feels a bit dodgy, but he doesn't think he's going to throw up. He might still be a bit drunk. The first thing out of his mouth is a croaky, "Whahnnm?" which supports his theory.

"I didn't want you to die in the night," Josh mutters. "It'd've made Chris too happy."

"We don't want that," says George, slowly, so that it comes out as words. "Thanks, 'preciate it."

He flops around for a minute to disentangle his legs from the blankets, then stretches his arms -- and sees his wrists.

Both of them.

Because his collar is gone.

He can't breathe. He grasps at the wrist it should be on, which is useless because it's not there, it's definitely not there, he would see it if it was and it isn't. His collar's gone. It's like a shot of sobriety directly to his brain.

He didn't _take it off_ , he wouldn't have, would he? He was drunk but he wasn't -- did he still have it when he was talking to Nick? God, what if Nick tells Harry that he saw George and then George has to call Louis and say he doesn't have his collar and it's all -- but he _didn't_ , he doesn't think, he doesn't really remember much of the end of being with Nick but he remembers finding JJ. Maybe. He remembers seeing Harry in the club. No, that wasn't Harry, that was someone else with hair.

"George?" comes an alarmed voice that has to be Josh because he's the only other person in the room. "Are you okay?"

Nothing is okay, George is not okay and apart from that he can't _breathe_ , but that's not important; he doesn't need to breathe as much as he needs to have his collar.

They're going to be so upset. If he can't keep track of it then he doesn't deserve to have it, does he?

"Georgie?" A weight causes the bed to dip down on one side and an arm curls around George's shoulders. "Hey, what's wrong, talk to me."

George shakes his head and gulps. He flops his wrist out at Josh because he can't find the right words.

"What, what is it?" Josh touches his wrist carefully, his thumb stroking over the back of it. It'd be quite soothing if George wasn't certain that everything's gone wrong.

George shakes his head again and focuses on not _whimpering_ because Josh is really being very nice and if he's going to lose Harry and Louis he'd rather not chase Josh away again, too.

"You're scaring me," says Josh as he rocks George a little. "Is it your -- is it Louis, or Harry? Like last time you were like this?"

Yes. Yes, it is, because last time they _were_ still his, weren't they, although he didn't realize it then. Last time he was like this, Josh didn’t like him at all, and this made it worse, and George doesn’t know how to answer without making Josh angry again. 

He doesn’t look angry, though, and he hasn’t let go of George. 

"Is it your bracelet? The one you were wearing that we talked about, you said it was very important to you." Josh is speaking slower than he normally does, or maybe time's moving more slowly.

George does actually whimper at that, because it's _not_ a bracelet, or well, it is, but it's not to him.

"Here, here, look," says Josh, lifting onto his knees. George doesn't have any idea what he's doing until he fishes something out of his pocket and holds it out to George in his palm.

George's eyes go round and he feels like his heart might slow its pace so quickly that he might black out.

"It was in the car when I came out to get you and JJ," Josh says hopefully. "I didn't know if you took it off on purpose, or -- anyway, is that right? Are you okay now?"

George slides it around his wrist again and then, without really thinking about it, throws his arms around Josh.

Josh's arms stay at his side for a moment before they slowly come around George, and he rubs his back. "It's alright," he says quietly, like he's still trying to soothe George. "You're alright?"

George nods against Josh's shoulder, because he is _now_. "Thank you. So so so so so so much."

"Yeah, of course. No problem." Josh sounds a little bewildered, but that's okay. He's hugging George back, and he smells nice, and he's basically the best person ever right now.

George relaxes. And breaths. "It's not -- well, it is -- thank you."

"It's not a big deal." Josh shrugs the shoulder George isn't occupying.

"It is," George insists. "Where was it?"

"Erm, behind the seats?" Josh asks. "I was trying to get you out of the van and JJ told me you fell back there."

"He pushed me back there." George feels so exhausted from relief all of a sudden he can hardly move. "Thank you so, so much. You're brilliant."

"It's nothing, George, it's just you mentioned it was important, so I grabbed it," Josh says. He pats George's back awkwardly.

"Yeah, but you did grab it, and it means a lot to me, and you just, you -- you," George concludes. He gives Josh another squeeze before he lets go.

Josh springs back so that he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He looks at George a bit warily. "Are you still panicking?"

George shakes his head, his fingers tucked under his collar. He wonders if he could get it stapled to himself or something so it'd never fall off. That'd hurt, though.

Josh pats his arm. "It's okay. We're all stressed."

It's such a very Josh thing to say, and before, it might have made George feel worse, but now he just laughs.

"Yeah, but -- I know you don't like when I, you know."

Josh shrugs again. "You can't really, I mean, you can't really help it, can you?"

George shakes his head and keeps touching his collar, checking every bead. "But all the same, last time you got angry, so. Thanks."

"Last time we were in the middle of being on live television," Josh points out. "And I -- it was different. We're a band now, and like, you're George."

"I've always been George. Except when I was Jorge-with-a-J. But I don't think that counts," George muses. "I like to forget that happened."

Josh laughs. "Yeah, it wasn't a great call. But none of us speak Spanish, how were we to know?"

"How were we to know?" George agrees. "I'm alright being a G amongst Js anyway."

"Well, you're a J to all of us," Josh says. Then he makes a face.

George covers his mouth and nods. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he says as solemnly as he can.

"Do you feel alright to get some breakfast and rehearse, then?" Josh asks. He pats George's leg. "Not too panicky or hung over?"

George rubs his stomach. He does feel a bit like he could eat, even if his head still throbs a bit. "Sure. Oh, did I steal JJ's bed?" he asks sadly.

"It's alright, I think he's asleep in the bath," Josh says.

"Oh, as long as he's not out on the street," George reasons, stretching his arms over his head. He'd like to sleep for another few years, but they do have rehearsal, and he'd like to at least pretend he doesn't know they're just barely remaining in the competition.

Josh seems to read his mind. "It's almost relaxing, already knowing we'll be in the bottom two."

"Isn't it?" George asks. He swings his legs off the side of the bed. "Just fits the pattern at this point, doesn't it?"

"It does," Josh agrees. "Come on, then. Chop-chop."

George wrinkles his nose as he stands, still in his clothes from last night. "Don't have time for a shower, do I?"

"Nah, but it's alright. Brian will love the wafting smell of old booze that's surrounding you."

"Ugh, nobody's going to want to talk to me," George groans, but he drags himself toward the door anyway. Even if he doesn't have enough time to change, he's going to.

Rehearsals go as well as being still-a-bit-drunk and completely defeated in the competition would lend for them to go. They're actually not so bad as all that, and they sound pretty great on both songs, but the margins are so tight between them and Rylan and so far between them and James or Jahmene.

Christopher is waiting outside when they finish, and his face pinches when they leave, but he doesn't say anything. It's good he doesn't, because Josh might actually punch him this time.

George doesn't end up ringing Harry and Louis to tell them about the mishap with his collar. He does talk to them; they wish him luck and tell him the plan for getting to theirs the next night, but he doesn't want to jinx himself.

The other Js and George have a night in and it's nice, sitting around with the others and talking about nothing in particular. They don't ask about Louis and Harry, and George doesn't tell, but he doesn't get the feeling it makes any of them really uncomfortable, which is nice.

Of course, Jaymi knows, but George doesn't think he's shared details with Josh or JJ. George gives Jaymi extra smiles, anyway, and plops down in his lap for a cuddle (once he's showered).

"Hello, Monkeyboy," Jaymi says. He falls into the cuddle as though it's easy as anything, which is nice. George likes people who like cuddles. "Heard you had an interesting night. How drunk did you get?"

"I thought a mirror was Harry," George says sheepishly.

Jaymi cackles, pushing his face against George's shoulder. "Of course you did," he says. "Did you go up to it and ask it to put something in your bum?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me about things in my bum?" George asks despairingly. " _Most_ of the time, it's just a normal bum with nothing in it!"

"Oh, really?" Jaymi raises his eyebrows. "You could've fooled me. Most of the time Harry's involved, he's put something in your bum."

Well, when _Harry_ is involved," George grumps. "But who could blame me?"

"Fair point," Jaymi agrees, bobbing his head. "No things in your bum, then? Not that sort of drunk? I don't know that I've ever actually seen you drunk."

"I don't think you have," George agrees. "You should sometime. I'm very cuddly."

"You're cuddly anyway," Jaymi says, and shimmies George a bit just to make his point.

"Yes, but I think it would be more fun when I'm drunk. I could nap on you." George rests his head on Jaymi's shoulder. "You'd be fun to nap on."

Jaymi pats George's head. "There will be plenty of time for sleep after we win X Factor." He grins. "Got to keep positive, right?"

"Right, positive," George says wryly. "I know that's what I've been all day."

"Hush, little Georgie," Jaymi chides. "Just put your head down and watch this awful film. Tomorrow, we'll be better than Christopher and the whole country will see sense and we'll get into the final. You'll see."

"I hope so," George mumbles, squirming into a comfortable position. This will make two band members he's slept on in two days. If he can get to Josh before the weekend's out, it'll be rather reminiscent of Las Vegas, albeit a rather PG rated version.

He makes that his new goal.

He sleeps well, because Jaymi's very comfortable, so he's not tired in the morning, but that doesn't mean he can't try to sneak his way into a nap with Josh. He sits next to him whenever they have a brief respite and leans against his shoulder, closing his eyes.

"D'you have narcolepsy?" Josh finally snaps. He sighs. "Sorry. Anxious. Gonna go for a Pokemon in the loo."

"I can never figure out if you're using that as a metaphor," George says. "I don't think I need you to tell me."

Josh bats at him and then leaves with his brow furrowed and his lip pooched out. George doesn't have the heart to tell him it just looks dreadfully cute instead of -- whatever he's going for, sultry or brooding or whatever.

Josh disappears until the 2-minute call, and Jaymi throws a fuss, but it's all become... routine. George will miss it, this, the show and the pace of it all, even though they are staying together as a group and will perform other shows, other concerts. He'll miss the X Factor. It's brought him everything.

The first performance goes well. They're all nervous, more nervous than usual, but they're good at this by now and their harmonies, though George hates to think of them, sound good.

And they don't jump off any boxes.

They get good comments. At this point, George is fairly sure that everyone knows it's them and Rylan in the bottom two tomorrow, though Tulisa at least obviously wishes it would be Christopher.

And Louis, of course. And probably Nicole, since Rylan is hers and Christopher is a single cornflake in vanilla skim milk.

George suspects that Nicole would be really fun to be drunk with. She was a hoot at Rylan's birthday, from what he can remember.

It's weird, knowing they're going to sing again. George is so used to one song and then being able to relax a little, but now they have to get different outfits on and rush even more. It's stressful.

The second song goes -- fuck you, Gary Barlow -- just as well as the first.

They sound good, is the thing. They sound really, really good together and George thinks they deserve to be in the final. They deserve to be there more than Christopher, who -- George doesn't think Gary has any room to talk about safe song choices.

And that second song is atrocious. Really, really bad. George covers his ears backstage and just hopes the cameras don't pan to him.

Or maybe he does. After the things Christopher said before, George kind of thinks it'd feel good.

They finish out the show and go onto Xtra Factor, and everything is different without Ella. But George can manage. She's already texted him her own judging of every performance of the night, and she called him "Union Jamazing."

It makes him think about what they'd be like if Jahmene was in the group. Much different.

It'd be weird, having five members, actually. He's glad they're not One Direction.

But maybe they'd have a better chance of getting to the final, without competing against Jahmene. George doesn't know. He's tired of thinking about ways they could've done this better.

With the exception of the first week, he doesn't think they could have.

And it doesn't matter, anyway, because he gets to see Harry and Louis now, and they won't tell him he wasn't trying hard enough or it wasn't a good enough song choice. They'll just give him what he needs.

He heads back up to his room at the hotel, intent on packing an overnight bag and maybe taking a shower, but when he gets up to his room, he nearly as a heart attack for a moment because there are two people sitting on his bed when he opens the door before he realizes oh, it's just Harry and Louis.

"Scared me to death," he chastises, but there's no force behind it because he's always just so happy to see them.

"Sorry, love." Louis stands and comes over to give George a kiss. Behind him, Harry shoulders a duffel bag.

"Did you pack for me?" George asks, warmth rising in his stomach. He likes the thought of that, when they make decisions for him.

"Mmhmm," Louis murmurs. He kisses George again. "Didn't want to waste any time. We have plans."

"I like plans," mumbles George. He could say other things but it seems silly to do when instead he could be kissing Louis.

Louis bites down on the plush of George's lower lip. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," George replies, leaning in a bit more so that he can steal another kiss.

Louis grants it, with another little bite, then pulls back and scrubs his fingers through George's hair. "Good. Before we start -- are you alright with being naked in the car tonight?"

George hums quietly, thinking about it. "The one with the tinted windows?"

Louis nods. His hand slides beneath George's shirt and pets lightly at his belly. "Is that alright?"

"Okay," George allows, smiling at him. "Yes. I can do that."

Louis' hand slips down into the front of George's pants. "Good."

It's been a while since he's had any stimulation at all, so George sort of sways into Louis' touch, clutching his shoulders.

Louis smirks. "Don't still have whiskey-dick, then?"

"I wasn't _that_ drunk," George retorts.

"Oh, really?" Louis asks, tilting George's chin up with a finger so that he can kiss his neck. "I think you were."

"You've never seen me drunk; you don't know," George says. "I was barely tipsy the night we met."

"Then I'd love to see you drunk, because you were hot as hell." Louis sets his teeth to the line of George's neck.

George giggles at that, then groans a little as Louis sucks on the edge of the bruise George still has from the other day.

"We should get going." Harry's voice rumbles from beside them. His hand -- it has to be his hand -- rubs George's back, and when George looks, his eyes are darker green and half-lidded.

George," Louis murmurs, "Can I unzip your trousers? I won't take you all the way out until we get in the car."

George bites his lip and then nods. He's still got pants on, he supposes, and -- and it's Louis asking.

He isn't _that_ hard yet, anyway. No one will see anything. It'll be alright.

"Good," whispers Louis, and the sound of George's zip lowering seems louder than it is.

George hums and buries his face in the curve of Louis' neck for a moment.

"If you don't want to, you don't have to," Louis says to him gently. "Just say the word, love."

"I do want to," George says. "Just you -- usually you don't ask like that, so I don't have to think about it so much."

"Ah, okay." Louis rubs his back. "It's a bit conditional, so it's better for me to ask than to do something I know you don't like."

"I know," George murmurs. "Thank you." He kisses Louis' neck and feels him shiver a little.

"Off we go," Louis announces, grabbing George's hand and squeezing it. "Things to do. Mostly you," he adds with a leer at George.

George giggles. Harry slings an arm around George's shoulders and kisses the side of his head, and they leave the room just as Jaymi is coming in.

He gives them a nod. "Taking care of George alright?"

"I do hope so, as we rather like him." Louis curls his fingers into the back of George's hair. "It'd be a bit of a disappointment if we weren't taking care of him."

George smiles. "They are," he assures Jaymi. "We talked about it and everything."

"Good." Jaymi's face clears a little. "Have fun, then. Get him back before eleven," he jokes.

"Yes, sir," Harry says, and Louis makes a pinched face. George giggles a little under his breath at that and squeezes Louis' side.

Jaymi tips his imaginary hat and then closes the door behind him when he enters the room, leaving the hall empty aside from them. George prefers it that way, with his jeans unzipped and all.

He freezes for a moment. "D'you think Jaymi noticed my pants?"

"Might've done," Harry says. "Didn't seem to care much if he did."

"I don't know whether to be relieved or insulted by that," George comments, letting them lead him to the elevator.

"Do you want Jaymi to be noticing your pants?" Louis asks dryly, leaning over once the doors close to kiss George's neck.

"No," George says. "I don't know. I'd like to think they're noticeable."

"I'm sure he was just being polite, then," reasons Harry. "Your pants are quite noticeable. Very nice pants."

George rolls his eyes. "You know what I meant."

"I do know what you meant." Harry tucks his fingers down into the back of George's jeans.

George squeaks a little. "Cheeky."

Harry's fingers slide down a little more, and then the elevator dings.

George adjusts the front of his jeans and tightens his jacket around himself before exiting the elevator.

It's easy enough to get through the lobby, this late nobody's really lingering around, mostly tired on route to their rooms or busy on the way to something else.

All the same, George has that lingering edge of bright-hot awareness that there are always -- always -- fans and groupies lurking around the lobby and the doors, waiting to catch a glimpse of the contestants. And he's walking with _Larry Stylinson_ , which already drives the fans mad around him, and his _jeans are open_.

"You're alright, shh," Louis says under his breath, touching his fingers quickly to George's wrist. "Almost there, babe."

George breathes deeply twice and nods. 

"You really are skittish about this," Louis murmurs. "I'm sorry, love, I should have noticed all those other times."

"Not your fault," says George weakly. "It's alright, it's better when it's not -- all the way out."

Louis kisses the underside of his jaw. "You're being perfect. We'll have to find you another reward, won't we?"

George likes the thought of that. He likes rewards. "That sounds nice," he agrees, tucking his hands under his arms when they emerge into the cold.

They get to Harry's massive car and Harry unlocks the doors. 

Louis pats George's bum. "You're in the back with me tonight."

George scrambles into the backseat. He already feels better being inside someplace, where there are doors, and nobody's going to be seeing him other than Harry and Louis.

Louis crawls in behind him and immediately starts looming over George, biting his own lip and staring at him with dark eyes as he urges George with just his body language to lie down across the backseat, spreading out as best he can.

He loves when Louis gets like this, all physical and he moves like a big jungle cat and he looks like he wants to devour George whole, in a good way.

George smiles and relaxes, letting his thighs splay open.

"Good boy, that's perfect." Louis leans down to kiss his mark on George's throat. "I want to give you another one."

George nods and stretches his neck a little to tempt Louis. He _did_ say that George looked pretty when he did that, and George wants -- well. He'll be leaving the show tomorrow, probably, because Rylan is so popular and everyone loves him, and he'd like... George wants a mark that people can see.

Louis hums in appreciation, and he does exactly what George wants, biting down hard enough that it makes him choke out a groan.

Louis sucks the bruise into place and licks over the spot when he's done. He smirks against George's skin and rocks his hips down over George's. "You're hard. Are you really so easy to please?"

"You know I am," says George, and it comes out in a whine. He doesn't intend it to, it just does.

Louis smiles like a shark and lets his teeth skim over George's ear. "Let's get you naked, then."

That sounds just lovely to George. He lifts his hips up off the seat of the car to help Louis in dragging them off.

Louis undoes George's shoes and takes his pants and trousers and socks off all in one swoop before slowly pushing George's shirt up over his belly and chest and over his arms, Louis' hands skimming his skin gently and never stopping their touching of George. He's doing everything he can to make George feel happy and comfortable and know that all of Louis' attention is on him.

It's so nice and George wants to tell him how nice it is but it's too nice to say in words. Instead, he tries to give Louis one of his best smiles, funny teeth and all.

"Thank you, Georgie," Louis murmurs. He kisses George's forehead.

George kisses Louis' neck in response as it's he only thing he can reach, and then he arches up against him hopefully.

"No, no, no," Louis sings softly. "Be still, Georgie. Just let me take care of you."

George can do that. He can be still for Louis. Obediently, he relaxes against the seat, waiting.

The backs of Louis' knuckles brush lightly over George's hip. "Good boy."

He is. He's a good boy. He can feel himself hovering just above the floaty place and he wants to go there but Louis hasn't let him yet.

Kissing just beside George's mouth, Louis murmurs, "Relax. How are you feeling?"

"Nice," George responds immediately. "It's nice. I like this."

"Good." Louis kisses George's belly, then hits the window with a bang as he tries to scoot back enough to take George into his mouth. "Ow; fuck."

George laughs, a nervous giggle. "Are you okay?" he asks. He'd sit up to check, but Louis told him to stay still.

"I'm fine," Louis grumps. "You better really appreciate this blowjob."

"You know I will." George's toes are curling a little at just the thought.

Louis bites George's hipbone and sucks the lovebite Harry left there a few days ago darker. It stings and aches all at once, like it's radiating outwards over George's body.

It feels amazing, and George has to drop his head back to the seat to fully experience it.

He moans softly when Louis pulls back to rub his thumb over the bruise.

"There's a good lad," Louis says softly, and then he mouths over the head of George's cock, his hand curling around the base of it to hold him steady.

"Oh, god," George whispers, and since Louis hasn't told him not to touch, George reaches down and lets one finger feel where Louis' lips are stretched just a bit.

Louis' eyes flick to his, blue and, George thinks, a little bit smug. He sucks once, gently, and his cheeks hollow.

George's jaw drops and he licks his bottom lip, mouth dry. His fingertips shake a little as he runs them over Louis' cheek.

He looks so good like this, and George hardly ever gets to see it because they do so many other things, but this is just perfect, watching Louis now. He's all cheekbones and eyes and eyelashes and gorgeousness. George wants to give him everything. He thinks, in most ways, he already has.

"He looks good, doesn't he?" Harry asks from the front seat, where they're idling on a red light.

"Yeah," breathes George, fitting his thumb into the hollow of Louis' cheek. "Yeah, amazing."

Louis definitely smirks at that, all in the eyes, and sucks down more of George, tongue tracing patterns that make George's head drop again with a groan.

He threads his fingers into Louis' hair without looking, not to pull but to have some sort of grounding. Louis' hair is always so soft, anyway, so it's not like it's a hardship to touch it.

For a minute, there's nothing except the slight purr of the engine and the warmth of Louis' mouth and it's all -- surprisingly soft and romantic in George's head, even though he's naked in a car in the middle of London.

"Thank you," he whispers because it sounds like the right thing to say and Louis is being tremendous in all respects.

Louis slurps his way back up and kisses the tip. "You're welcome. Spread your legs for me, love, there we go."

George parts his thighs easily, one of his legs dropping off the seat and the other pressed all the way against the back.

"Good boy, love." Louis fiddles in his pocket for a second and pulls out a small packet of lube. "What's your color now?"

"I'm fine," George says. "I don't think I'm -- I'm not, yeah, I'm fine."

"Fine's not a color," says Louis, pausing for a moment.

"I know; I'm not -- like, under?" George shifts a little. "But this is alright. I'm really enjoying it, please don't stop," he adds quickly.

Louis strokes George's thigh. "We don't want you under 'til you're in the house," he murmurs. "Considering this isn't something you're normally alright with."

George smiles. "Well, if you need a color anyway, I'm green. Like Harry is, with envy."

"Hey!" Harry says from the driver's seat. He pauses. "You're not wrong, but _hey_."

George giggles, then jumps when Louis touches cold, slick fingers to his arse.

"Relax," Louis murmurs, then kisses the head of George's dick again. "Let me take care of you so you're all ready at the house."

George shivers, and tries to spread his legs a little wider for Louis. He's sort of relaxed, just not as relaxed as he could be.

He pushes his fingers through Louis' hair again and concentrates on how Louis' mouth feels, which honestly is a very distracting thing even when it shouldn't be, so now that it should, he feels himself settling quickly into a pleasant, needy, hot _want_.

Louis's finger strokes lightly over his hole and then presses forward, and the whole time, his rhythm doesn't falter. George would admire that if he could think of anything at this point.

By the time they reach the house, George is chanting _fuck_ in huffed whispers and his hips are rocking down, fucking onto three of Louis' fingers, and Louis' mouth is just stuttering kisses and kitten-licks over George's wet cock because sucking would be too much, he'd come.

"We're here," Harry announces. George wouldn't have known otherwise, because everything's still moving for him.

"I -- can I?" George asks, and he's not even sure what he's asking for.

"We're going inside now, come on," Louis coaxes, slowly sliding his fingers out of George. He gives his cock one last fond nuzzle before he sits up, his mouth gone red and his hair a mess.

George blinks, little flutters of his eyes like snowflakes. "Wh -- naked?"

Louis' eyes sweep up George's frame. "Mm. I'd like that, but you can put your clothes on until we're in the house."

George tilts his head, the edges of his mind gilded in silver fog. "Do you want me to?"

Louis smiles gently and reaches to stroke George's cheek. "I want you to do what makes you happy. Not me."

George blinks, doe-eyed. "Making you happy makes me happy."

"I know it does, darling, but you don't like being outside when you're naked," Louis reasons. He's still touching George, fingers down his neck and over his shoulder.

George considers. The thoughts don't come as slowly as they would if he were under, but he's still blissed out and relaxed and wants to make Louis pleased with him. "Are there other people outside?"

"Not outside, no," says Louis slowly. "We're past the gate now, so there's not anyone except the neighbors."

George shifts a little. "If I stay naked, you can fuck me sooner when we get inside?"

"That's true," Louis agrees. "But it's also cold out, and I'm not so sure you haven't been -- addled a bit. By my amazing oral skills."

George giggles at that, his head lolling forward. "They are amazing!"

"Very amazing." Louis sounds amused. "Would you like to put your trousers back on? Or are you braving the cold?"

"I'll wear my pants," George decides slowly. "But will you make me come when we get inside?"

"Of course I will." Louis crosses his heart with a serious look on his face.

George smiles. "Okay." He shimmies into his pants. Then blushes. "And my t-shirt, please."

"Whatever you want," Louis says, passing George his shirt. He strokes knuckles over George's arm. "Not pushing you, okay?"

When his head pops out of the t-shirt, George beams. "I know." He bites his lip and blushes a little. "Love you."

Louis smiles and leans in to kiss George's cheek, whispering, "Love you back," in his ear and then playfully biting it.

Harry opens the door and turns so George can clamber piggyback onto him if he wants (which he does. Always).

It is a bit nippy out, but Harry's quite warm and George is blushing because he's wearing so little clothing, so he manages alright until they get to the house.

Louis follows behind them, carrying George's duffel, and by the time he kicks the door shut, Harry is already halfway up the stairs with George still slung over his back.

"You work out too much," Louis calls after them, but he doesn't sound angry, just pleased, which makes George pleased.

"Well, you heard him, I'm _envious_ ," Harry calls back. "You already had him naked, now it's my turn."

George mouths against the back of Harry's neck. He likes naked. Naked is nice. Naked sounds perfect right now.

He ruts against the small of Harry's back a little. Maybe he can fuck Harry today, if he's good.

Harry's room is familiar and warm, and probably George's favorite room he's ever been in. Harry lowers him onto the bed and George bounces, grinning up at him.

"You're cute," Harry murmurs. He kisses George straight away, and George can feel how hard Harry is even through his jeans.

He palms him through them, leaning up to get the full pleasantness of the kiss. He forgets, somehow, every time, how much of a brilliant kisser Harry is.

Harry groans against George's mouth, then kisses his way over George's cheekbone to murmur in his ear. "I want to try something new. Is that alright?"

"Yes," answers George. It doesn't really matter what it is. He knows he'll do anything Harry wants him to.

Harry tugs at George's earlobe with his teeth. "Thank you, Georgie."

George thinks it's probably him who should be thanking Harry, but he nods against him anyway, tilting his head back.

"Let's get your clothes off," Harry whispers.

George tugs his shirt over his head again, and Harry pulls his pants off. He likes being naked with Harry. It feels sort of natural -- well, being naked _is_ the natural state, he supposes.

Especially with Harry, because it's an honest to god shame that man _ever_ has to wear clothes. George makes a soft, pleased noise as he rubs his hands over Harry's chest and the ridges of his abs.

Harry laughs, and presses George down into the bed so that he can kiss him again, on top of him and boxing him in with his arms.

George wraps his thighs around Harry's hips.

"Good, that's good," Harry tells him, and then he bites George's lower lip, his hand petting George's stomach.

He kisses George's neck, not biting, just gentle presses of lips, and eases so that he can brush his fingertips between George's legs, testing where Louis' already stretched him.

He feels empty now that he's paying attention, and he wriggles against Harry's hand in invitation.

"Did Louis do a good job?" Harry asks softly.

"Yes," whispers George. "Feels so empty now, though."

Harry hums sympathetically. "D'you want something in you, then? Really badly?"

"Yes, yes please," George says, spreading his legs even wider. "Please?" he repeats.

"Shhh," Harry murmurs. "You'll get something."

George whimpers as the blunt head of Harry's cock brushes up against him -- but then Harry pulls away and roots around in the bedside table.

That doesn't seem fair at all, but if George complains, Harry might not give him _anything_ and that would be just terrible, so he stays quiet.

Harry sits back on his heels and shows George the contents of his hands: in one, there's a tube of lube, which George is grateful for.

In the other, there's something George immediately recognizes, and it makes him shiver a little with anticipation. Blue, sleek, and long, and Harry pushes a switch on the bottom to show George that, yes -- it vibrates.

"I want to try fucking you with this," Harry says smoothly. "Because you said you never have. What d'you think? What's your color?"

"Green," George says after he swallows. "Very green," he adds. It's got to be basically like being fucked with a cock, except it's plastic. It's like his plug only it comes out.

Which, really, would solve all of his issues with the plug.

Harry switches it off again, and he looks over his shoulder, where Louis is leaning against the doorway. "You could come get a closer look," he invites.

Louis smiles, lopsided, and his eyes glint. "I think I will." He strips out of his jumper on his way to the bed.

He's all tan and fit and it makes George sigh happily that he gets to -- he gets to sleep with two of the fittest people in the whole world, and that makes him feel good.

George murmurs a little and spreads his legs more. He still isn't under, really, but he's... content. He's happy.

Harry puts lube on his fingers and touches George, to make sure he's stretched enough before he slicks more over the toy, and it looks obscene, Harry's long fingers wet and stroking this blue vibrator. It just makes George want it inside him all the more.

Louis makes a pleased sound beside them, and when George looks over, Louis' out of his pants, one hand stroking himself lazily.

"That looks good, babe," he tells Harry. "Might help myself."

Harry makes a noise of his own, and it sounds approving. "Good idea," he murmurs as he lowers the toy to George.

It's not as big as Harry, around, but it's still a good stretch that George can press into, and he feels less empty now.

Harry strokes it in and out a few times, and with the other hand rubs George's belly comfortingly. "Y'alright?"

"Mmhmm," George confirms, because he is; it's not -- well, it isn't Harry, or even Louis, so he's fine. It's nice, it feels nice. That's sort of it, but. It feels nice.

Harry switches it on.

George nearly swallows his tongue. He gasps and surges upright for a moment before he sags back against the pillow because this, this is nothing like anything he's ever felt before. Harry doesn't have a vibrating dick normally so it's just, it's weird and amazing and inside George and he doesn't know what to do, so he just holds on.

Harry looks amused. "Still alright, Georgie?"

George makes a strange, strangled noise, nodding.

"Good." Harry pushes it into George a little deeper and he swears his eyes nearly roll back. He doesn't know why he's never done this before but he wants to do it always and forever until he dies.

Soft lips press to his knee. "You did so well the other day, but you shouldn't have to hold it all in for so long. This is yours, we bought it for you. You can use it whenever you want to work on coming without being touched."

George thinks -- well it's a very sweet gesture but there's no way he'll be able to keep from coming if he's using this. He's only had it inside him for half a minute and he thinks he might've had forty orgasms. "Thank you," he chokes out, his chest heaving.

Harry's mouth inches down to the side of George's knee, where the skin is thin just at the juncture of his inner thigh. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

George bites his lip and his back arches. He doesn't think about it much, just knows that he wants more of the vibrator inside him, and it seems the easiest way to get it there.

The angle changes, and George whimpers, his head thrashing back on the pillow. He wrenches his eyes open when he feels the tip of his nose brush Louis' shoulder.

Louis is next to him, and he has -- he has an identical vibrator but for the color (this one's purple, they do seem to like purple) teasing at his own entrance. He gives George a breathless smile. "Alright?" he asks, nudging his shoulder.

George bites Louis' shoulder in response, his eyes shutting again on their own.

Harry twists his wrist and the vibrator bumps right against George's prostate. It sends shockwaves down his spine and suddenly he's hurtling toward the edge.

"Shhh," Harry murmurs, his hand rubbing over George's chest like he's measuring George's heart, his breathing. "You're alright."

"Gonna -- I'm -- gonna," George gasps, fisting his hand in the duvet to stave it off. He can't yet, they haven't told him to yet, but it's so _good_.

"George?" Louis murmurs, nosing at George's hair sweetly. "Can you open your eyes?"

He can, because it's Louis asking, so George blinks and then blinks again, licking his lips.

Louis kisses George's forehead. "Don't come until after I do, okay?"

George shudders. Now he has a direct order, it's -- easier, sort of, to push it back. It might also be that Harry's stopped fucking him with the toy, running the tip of it over the insides of George's thighs.

"Can you do that?" Louis asks. He brushes George's fringe out of his eyes.

"Yes," George says, quietly. "Yes, I think so. Yes."

"Okay," Louis murmurs. He kisses George's cheekbone, just beneath his eye.

George takes a deep breath when Harry's toy presses into him again. It's still vibrating, but it's not as intense as it was before. George doesn't know if he's just dealing with it more easily or if it has settings, or something.

Harry eases it almost all the way out before pushing it slowly inside. "You should touch Louis' cock," he says conversationally. "Help him out."

George touches Louis' hip and then his thigh before his hand makes contact with his dick. It's hard and warm and George's fingers fit around it perfectly. He likes that.

"Mmm," Louis moans softly. "Thank you, George."

He can't figure out how to make the right words, so he just kisses Louis' arm and then keeps his face there as he strokes him.

His fingers bump against Louis' wrist every once in a while as their rhythm syncs, and Harry turns the vibrations up another notch inside George, bending over him to thrust lightly against George's thigh.

It's all sweaty and hot and _good_. George has missed this even though it hasn't been that long, and he wants this every single day of the rest of his life.

He isn't quite under, but he's alright with that -- he's with Harry and Louis, and he feels _good_. With them, he feels best, but he's felt good all week.

Harry is obviously practiced at using the vibrator on somebody else, and that's a nice thought, too -- picturing him using it on Louis, bent over and eager for it.

George bites Louis' arm, focusing hard on not coming, focusing on making Louis come and feel good, too.

"Such nice hands," Louis murmurs to him. His voice sounds a bit shaky, but that's only to be expected. "So good, Georgie."

George nods against Louis' shoulder and lets his thumb rub over the slit of Louis' cock. He knows Louis is close even if he's always quiet and -- nonchalant, maybe, about coming. He can feel it, though, and hear it in his breathing.

"Just there, just like that," Louis pants, and then he releases a low moan as he comes, spilling sticky over George's hand.

George barely has time to squeak, "Can I -- " before he comes, too, desperate, splattering up to his own neck and collarbones.

"Oh," Harry sighs, leaning down to lick his chest. His tongue is wet and hot and it feels so good in the aftermath that George nearly shrinks away from it.

"George," Louis pants. "Take care of Harry. Blow him."

George almost tumbles over himself in order to get Harry's cock in his mouth. He can't fit it all in at once on his first go but he can suck on an impressive amount, he thinks.

 

Harry grunts a soft groan and threads his fingers through George's hair. "That's really good, George."

He can feel the come on his chest and the damp places Harry licked it from him and it makes him want to do his best for Harry (not that he's ever doing less than his best for Harry).

Louis' skin is hot when he leans over George, framing his back, and murmurs praise in his ear.

George reaches up to toy with one of Harry's nipples, pinching it lightly, and Harry groans brokenly, his hips shoving up in one sharp thrust so that George's nose is pressed against Harry's stomach and his eyes are watering and he can't quite breathe.

It's alright, though, because Harry comes then, breathing through it and playing with the hair at the nape of George's neck, his hand shaking a little.

George pulls off, spluttering a little, and he knows there's a string of come on his chin, but he isn't embarrassed. Harry will like that, anyway, when he opens his eyes.

He smiles at George, pink-faced and pleased. "Gorgeous," he rumbles, swiping his thumb through the remnants and sucking it off happily.

George nods, still coughing and leaning back against Louis' chest as Louis pets him, chest and belly and the tops of George's thighs. It feels -- it's a little weird to be with them and fucked out and blissed and not _under_.

Not bad, exactly, just weird. They don't -- Louis doesn't put Harry under every time, though, either. So it's normal for them to switch it around.

(He hopes that they never expect him to -- to -- do, like, _dom_ them, though. He knows he could never do that.)

"Such a good boy, that was amazing, Georgie," Louis whispers to him, kissing below his ear. "You're so good for us."

George finally stops coughing long enough to take a deep breath and settle more comfortably into Louis' lap. "Thank you, but -- why didn't you ever, I never went -- I didn't float."

"Do you always have to?" Louis asks, rubbing down George's back. "I think, it might be a bit easier to keep from, you know, if you're not under quite so much. You still liked it, didn't you?"

"Yeah," George hedges. "But it was -- I liked last time I was here, too. More, I think. I was really proud all week after. Sore. But proud."

"We can do that sometimes too, babe." Louis laughs, and kisses George's head. "But you don't want too much of it all at once. We can work up to that."

George sighs and rests his cheek against Louis' shoulder, looking up at the underside of Louis' jaw where it stubbles. "But I'll hardly see you. Starting really soon."

"Then it'll be easier if you're a bit weaned off being under so much, won't it?" Louis' voice is soft, and he curls his hand around the side of George's neck. "So it's not as hard."

George wilts and presses his face into Louis' skin. He clutches at him, arms tight around Louis' ribs.

"Shh, I know," Louis murmurs, holding George close. "I know, love, I'm sorry."

The solid, comforting warmth of Harry wraps around George's back, and George can feel, against the back of his shoulder blade, Harry's eyelashes fluttering gently against his skin.

He feels wrapped up and wonderful, even if there's still trepidation there. He'll just have to try not to think about it. He can just be happy with how everything is now.

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